


you're a magnet, i'm metallic

by whataboutateakettle



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: College AU, College AU with no actual college in it, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3826513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whataboutateakettle/pseuds/whataboutateakettle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, the world certainly works in mysterious ways." // "Not really. It's mostly physics."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. opposites attract, but only for tonight. (sept)

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any questions about it feel free to ask here or on my [tumblr ](www.whataboutateakettle.tumblr.com)

Walter’s been avoiding eye contact with her since he picked her up tonight to go to this stupid party. She didn’t even know why they’re going, but he’s been pestering her for the better part of three days so she finally agreed just to shut him up. She’s been trying to glare him into explaining it to her, but he’s expertly avoided it until he finally looks back at her as they walk up the path to the front door.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” he asks, frowning at her.

“I’m trying to figure out why _you_ suddenly want to go to a college party.”

“We go to college,” he states with an air of evasion.

Megan laughs from behind them, “He wants to go because -”

“ _Because_... I thought it would an interesting social experiment.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You don’t believe in social experiments. Why is Gallo even hosting a student party anyway, he’s a _teacher_.”

They’re at the door now and Walter rings the doorbell, turning back to her. “He’s not -”

The door opens before he can finish, and Happy looks up to see Paige Dineen standing there in a short red dress and suddenly _everything_ makes sense. She doesn’t really know Paige, but she knows of Paige. Everyone does. She’s Gallo’s niece, or something; they’re definitely related somehow, she’s sure of that much. That’s probably how Walter knows her, and why he wanted to go to this party in the first place.  She bites her lip, and turns around to glance back at Megan with a raised eyebrow. Megan grins back knowingly and Happy reminds herself to ask for more details later.

“Walter! I’m so glad you made it. Cabe’s inside, I think he’s trying to hide but I’m sure he’ll want to see you.” Paige opens the door wider, smiles at all of them as they walk in. “Happy, right? And Megan?”  She smiles at them warmly, like they’re already friends.

“Some social experiment,” Happy leans up on her tiptoes to whisper in Walter’s ear with a smirk.

If he was anyone else, he’d probably be blushing. But Walter stays true, pointedly ignores her, and turns to Megan. “You okay here?”

Megan nods, “I’m excited to finally hang out with people who aren’t trying to check my vitals. I see a couch over there – wanna bring me a drink?” She grins mischievously, eyes lighting up.

Walter frowns at the title, but nods nevertheless.  “I’ll go find something.”

“Come, I’ll show you,” Paige says, taking hold of his wrist.

“Thanks little bro!” Megan calls out as they watch them disappear into the crowd. The lounge is packed, as was the hallway when they walked in. Happy noticed a sign saying that upstairs was off-limits, probably a last ditch attempt by Gallo to keep some control of his house.

Megan points to the couch in the corner of the room. “I’m gonna go sit down before I trip someone with these,” she waves one of her crutches gently. Happy nods in acknowledgement, watches as Megan makes her way over. People turn and part to make way for her. It’s not just the crutches; Megan is possibly the sunniest person she’s ever met, and people are like sunflowers around her.

When Megan’s sitting down Happy finally looks away, satisfied that she’s alright. She looks around trying to find something to drink, or something to do. Walter had promised they wouldn’t have to stay long but now that she’s seen Paige in that dress she’s not sure how that promise is going to hold up.

She pushes her way through a bunch of people, some of whom she recognises from class, some just from around campus. She doesn’t talk to anyone, there’s a reason she hasn’t really made friends with any of them. Most of them look at her weirdly because she’s younger than them, and still doing better work. But whatever, she has her machines and she has Walter whom she met last year when he wanted to collaborate on a robotics project. At first she wasn’t sure why he had sought her out especially, but soon it was clear that she was the only one who could keep up with him. And maybe he’s the only one who can keep up with her.

She spots a keg, next to a table of red cups and moves towards it. At least she can get a free drink out of this thing. She’s about to pick up a cup when a hand holding a bottle of beer appears in front of her head.

“It’s empty, I think someone left to get a replacement. But here.”

She raised an eyebrow at the bottle, before turning her head to see who was holding it.

He’s wearing an _awful hat_ , a leather jacket over some terrible band tee and a smug look on his face. “Don’t worry,” he says as she eyes him warily, and waves the bottle still in front of her. “It’s still sealed. For safety.”

She takes the bottle from him and the guy uses his now free hand to reach for something in his pocket, but she’s quicker, pulls her bottle opener out of her pocket.

He whistles, although she can’t really hear it over the music. “Never seen a Swiss army knife like that.”

“Because I made it,” she replies, flicking the lid off her bottle before pressing the tool back in and letting a thick 3 inch blade pop out. “ _For safety_.”

He nods, impressed smile on his face. If she’s scaring him, he’s not showing it. So she’ll just have to work harder.  “Aren’t you Little Miss Cheerful tonight? I’m Toby Curtis.” He holds out a hand.

She ignores the hand, takes swig of beer, before she replies. “Happy Quinn.”

He’s already smiling, but his lips quirk even more like he's just realised something. “Well, the world certainly works in mysterious ways.”

“Not really. It's mostly physics,” she deadpans. She’s not even sure why she’s still talking to this guy. She’s not great at reading people, but she can already tell this guy is an asshole at his best. He looks like a frat boy, with a personality to match. Well, he looks a couple years older than her, so he probably _used_ to be a frat boy. One, apparenly, that doesn’t ever stop smirking?

She’s _definitely_ about to say something and leave, when someone walks up to them. To him.

“Toby, hi!” the guy is tall, taller than Toby even, with a mop of curly hair and an excited, innocent grin.

Toby returns his grin, turns to give the guy a fistbump, one they'd obviously practiced. “Sly! You made it. Good job, bro!”

“Thanks!” he says, bringing his hands together in front of his chest. That’s when his gaze moves down to her and his mouth forms a small circle or realisation. “Oh, uh, sorry! I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

“You’re not-” Toby starts to say and she tilts her head in surprise.  

But the boy in glasses keeps talking, “I’m Sylvester. It’s nice to meet you!”

"Happy," she replies. She doesn't offer him a hand and he seems relieved, nods at her with a warm but awkward smile before he wanders off.

“He’s young,” she says, watching him as he disappears into the crowd of people.

“He’s 16. _Genius_ at numbers. He’s practically a human calculator,” Toby nods, taking sip of his own beer.

She’s sceptical, raises an eyebrow almost too quickly. “Is that how you know him?”

He shakes his head. “Oh no, I met him in -” he pauses, like he’s rethinking his words. “We met through student services. He’s a nice kid, jumped two years because he got so much credit while he was in high school.”

She bites her lip, “I know someone like that.”

Toby smiles again, like he knows something she doesn’t. He’s looking at her like he can read her mind. Maybe he can tell, then, that she's not sure if she likes it but she's not about to walk away just yet. She smiles back, makes it a competition. 

* * *

They’re still in the corner, talking over nearly empty bottles, when he stops suddenly. He's doing most of the talking, and she was right he's definitely not above trying to explain the world to her. He’s a psych major, or was, a fact she’s trying not to hold against him. In terms of who she got stuck with a party she didn’t want to be at, maybe she got lucky. It definitely could have been worse. Sure, he’s wearing that awful hat, but he’s not tried anything weird yet. And though she’s letting him do most of the talking, he seems genuinely interested when she does say something. His jokes are terrible, but he gets this expectant look on his face every time he waits for her to laugh and she doesn’t mind giving it to him.

When he freezes, she notices straight away. “You okay? This is the first time you’ve shut up since I met you?”

He takes another moment, his eyes not moving from someone in the room. Finally, he shakes his head, “Sorry, I just – sorry.”

She follows his gaze, her eyes landing on a blonde in a black dress. She’s pretty, tall. Also, holding hands with someone else.

“Who’s she?” She asks, before draining her beer and putting the bottle on the table next to them.

Toby sighs, “My ex. And apparently, her new boyfriend.”

“Sucks,” she says, “When did you two break up?”

“It’s been a while. But we were engaged so I’m still getting used to it.”

She frowns, overwhelmed for a second at the information, realises she does not know nearly as much about him as she thought she did. She moves her eyes back to him, finds him draining his own bottle. His smirk is gone. He doesn’t look upset, but definitely uncomfortable and she feels an urge, one she doesn’t really understand, to help.

She looks around, figures out which direction the kitchen is in and pulls at his elbow. “Come with me.”

He follows her wordlessly. The kitchen has another keep out sign on the door, obviously put up by Gallo, but Happy ignores it and pulls Toby in behind her. Inside, the music is thankfully muffled by the walls and she finally turns to face him. He’s looking at her, waiting for her to explain their change of scenery.

“We both need something stronger,” she explains finally. “This is Gallo’s house, so he has to have something that’s not shitty beer.”

He nods, agreeing immediately, looks around at the cupboards in front of them. “Hmm. Gallo is married, mid thirties. “No kids, so it doesn’t have to be out of reach. Traditional kinda guy so he’ll have some for special occasions and relaxing after work. I’d say he’ll have some good stuff right... down there.” He points to a cupboard just left of the sink. She moves to open it and sure enough there’s an open, but barely drunk bottle of whiskey in the first row.

She pulls it out, raises an eyebrow at him, “Good job, Professor X.”

“ _Please_ , I’m more of a Sherlock Holmes,” He smirks at her, proud of himself. 

She ignores him in favor of opening the bottle, takes a hard swig. The liquid burns a little down her throat but she needs it. She hands it to him wordlessly and finds him looking at her like he’s the one impressed. Good. 

He takes a swig before handing the bottle back to her, watches as she takes one more gulp. This one is smaller; she knows how to pace herself. “You don’t like to talk about yourself.” He says suddenly.

 _I’m not the only one_ , she thinks, but just looks at him blankly. “I don’t like to be analysed.”

He picks up the bottle, shrugs, “Too late.” He takes another gulp. He’s threading a line, they both know it. But his gaze is sincere, gentle, and she decides to play along. For tonight.

“Fine then, _Freud_ , what’s your diagnosis?”

He grimaces in disgust, “Okay, first, Freud was a _hack_.” He looks back at her, watches her for a second before smiling. “But you, you had to grow up alone and far too soon. But you’re smart, so you used that and it made you strong and independent. You like building things, including walls because _most people_ are clumsy bastards who shouldn’t be trusted.”

She stares back at him, letting her lips quirk ever so slightly before she bites them down. She’s heard worse. All of the social workers and therapists she’s been forced to talk to over the years and none of them have ever summed her up so concretely, and without making her sound like a human wrecking ball.

“That’s it?” she asks finally.

He’s still watching her, his eyes shifting between her eyes and her lips. “You also have some deep-seated anger issues, which I know is unhealthy but it’s also kinda hot so...” He shrugs his shoulders. 

There’s something about the light in the kitchen, because he looks different now, even though his hat is still casting a shadow over him, both literal and figurative.

Happy takes one more swig from the whiskey bottle and sets it down on the counter next to her. He’s looking at her like he’s expecting her to say something, or do something. And she does.  

Reaching out, she grabs him by the jacket and pulls him down until their lips collide. She didn’t even realise how much she wanted to kiss him, to see if his mouth was any good at anything but talking. Which it is, it really _really_ is. She feels his hands move, one to her arm, and another to the back of her head, and the kiss deepens. She can taste the beer he was been drinking earlier and the scotch from a minute ago. She pulls away as suddenly as she pulled him in, exhales deeply before gazing up to look at him. He’s staring at her, except now his eyes are shiny and dark and she knows hers are the same.  

"Don't ruin it," she warns under her breath, but doesn't move and he waits another beat before dropping his hands to her waist and lifting her up onto the counter. She tightens her grip on his jacket, not really realising she had never even let go, and pulls him into her again. He fits neatly between her legs and his hands find their way under her own jacket. His hat is bumping against her forehead to she reaches up, pulls it off and drops it somewhere next to her. He cranes his neck further, and she places her hand on the back of his head, holding him closer.

She likes this new angle, moans and it’s swallowed by his mouth but vibrates between them. She can feel his hands grip at her back, fingers pressing warmly through her top. She wonders what they'd feel like against her skin-

Suddenly, the music from outside gets louder. “Hey Happy, someone said you were – _oh_. Sorry.”

She pulls herself away, or rather, pushes Toby back and looks up, licking her lips. Walter is standing in the kitchen doorway, frowning. She can tell he’s not upset though, just uncomfortable, as he usually is.

“I’m leaving, if you still want a ride home.” He finally says.

She glances down at Toby, shrugs apologetically, “Sorry, that’s my ride.”

He nods understandingly, steps back so she can jump down. She’s half expecting him to ask for her number and she’d almost feel bad turning him down.

He smiles at her but his gaze doesn’t stay on her long, as he looks up and waves, “Hey Walt, how are you?”

She looks between them, confused as to how they know each other. But Walter nods back, “My experiments have been progressing well.”

Toby glances at her, raising his eyebrows like they’re sharing a joke. “See you around, _Happy Quinn_.”

She doubts it. But she nods anyway, follows Walter out of the kitchen and they find Megan waiting by the door.

* * *

The car ride home is full of chatter, Megan’s. Proof that you don’t have to be standing to have a great time at a party. “... And _then_ I met a really sweet guy called Sylvester. He’s a total maths genius. I think you’d really like him, Walter.”

Happy leans forwards from her spot in the back seat, “You know he’s sixteen, right?”

Megan blushes, “I know, I’m not -”

“Happy, I see you met Toby tonight,” Walter interrupts a little awkwardly. She almost surprised he wants to talk about him after walking in on them like that. But it’s probably not worse than talking about someone who makes his sister blush.

“How do you know him anyway? Doesn’t seem like your type.”

Megan laughs, turns her neck to look at her, “What’s Walter’s type?”

“Genius loner,” she replies, then grins. “Or _Paige Dineen_.”

She expects Walter dismiss her Paige comments, but instead he looks at her through the rear-view mirror. “Happy, Toby Curtis _is_ a genius.”

She frowns, “He’s a frat guy, Walt. Maybe he’s smart but-”

“What? No,” Walter waves a hand up so she can see it. “He’s a _doctor_. He graduated Harvard Medical School when he was seventeen and he’s here doing a PhD in applied behaviours.”

“He works at student health, too, as a counsellor. Sylvester told me that’s how they met,” Megan adds, looking back at her.

Happy frowns, only just realising how wrongly she’d judged him. Maybe there was a little more to Toby Curtis than just an awful hat and a good mouth. She didn’t know how she felt about him being able to surprise her like that. Surprises don't work out for her, she’s learnt, and it’s better not to trust them.

She shakes her head, catches Walter’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “ _Whatever_ , not like I’m going to see him again. How's Paige?” She asks more pointedly, so he can’t ignore it this time. She knows this kind of conversation makes him uncomfortable, but she's feeling particularly vengeful. 

“She’s fine, I didn’t talk to her much,” Walter answers quickly, focuses his attention to the road.

Megan looks back at her knowingly, “You know, for a genius, he’s a terrible liar.”

“I don’t lie,” Walter says and they both know what’s coming next.

If she’s focusing on facts, maybe she didn’t regret going to this party as much as she thought she would. And yeah, maybe she won’t be seeing the  _Doctor_   again but nothing’s stopping her from keeping the memory of his lips against hers. She’s pretty sure she’ll find some use of it.


	2. serendipity, in three parts (oct)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> serendipity. noun. /ˌserənˈdɪpəti/. the fact of something interesting or pleasant happening by chance. synonyms: (happy) chance, (happy) accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. It's been a thousand years. Most of these geniuses have probably _graduated_ college by now. Still, I told you there might be more and here is some more. I can now say definitively: there will definitely be more after this. 
> 
> But when? Great question.
> 
> (I spent more time than necessary figuring out Toby's exact car model. 95% sure it's a 1967 Buick Skylark convertible. If anyone's interested.)

There’s a reason she likes this job and it’s not only because she’s good at it. The garage is separated from the front office by a corridor and two heavy doors, and there’s usually only one mechanic working at time. She gets to spend hours surrounded only by the sounds and smells of engines and machines and the careful ticking of her own thoughts. It’s relaxing here; she knows her place, she knows what to do.

“QUINN, GET OUT HERE. YOU’VE GOT A JOB,” Her boss’ voice booms through the loudspeaker in the corner, bounces off the walls, crashes into her like a tidal wave. He doesn’t seem to understand he doesn’t have to yell into the microphone in his office for her to hear him. He doesn’t seem to understand a lot of things.

She wants to tell him that she already has a job, one that’s she’s currently doing, but she bites her tongue. She needs money more than she needs pride right now, and at least this job is something she likes.

“Yeah?” She asks, walks through to the front office, wiping her hands on the greasy overalls she’s pulled over her jeans and tied around her waist.

He’s sitting at his desk, an open game of solitaire on his computer screen. He doesn’t even look at her but he waves in the general direction of the front door.

“That guy outside needs a quote.”

He’s sitting against the hood of his car, kicking the toe of his converse into the ground, and when he sees her coming he looks at her with something akin to relief. If she knew him better – if she knew him _at all_ , maybe she’d know why. She looks down and sees his car, an old Buick convertible. _Old_. This thing is at least forty years and looking rough for its age. Maybe she understands the relief.

“What are you doing here?” She asks before she gets too close, plants her boot steady on the ground.

He steps away from the car, turns towards it. “She’s making weird sounds.”

She rolls her eyes at the female pronoun. Of course he’s one of _those_. “That’s your car? Of course it’s making weird sounds; it’s begging you to put it out of its misery.”

His head whips around and he looks positively scandalized. “This is a _classic_.”

Even classics die eventually. “Sure. Look, I’ll check it out, maybe I can fix it enough so you don’t get stranded on the 405.” There’s no maybe. With enough time and tools, she could make this thing run like it did forty years ago.

“How much, ah, how much do you think it’ll be?” he’s rubbing his hand on the back on his neck and for the first time ever, she sees him look nervous.

It makes sense, this guy is supposed to be smart and if he hasn’t traded this piece of crap in for a safer model then he must be tight on cash.

She sighs, knows that if it were anyone else she could have made a pretty good deal on this job. But this asshole is Walter’s friend, apparently, and he’s one of them. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’m serious,” he’s looking straight at her, lips pressed together.

“I said its fine, _Doc_ ,” she bites out the words before she thinks them. It doesn’t happen often, years of programming meant she was used to picking her words carefully, used to biting her tongue and not the hands that fed her. Even when they deserved it.

He pauses, sways on his feet a little before he chuckles. “I guess Walter told you, huh.”

“You managed to leave that fact out when your tongue was in my mouth.”

Now they both pause and she kicks herself for bringing it up. He raises an eyebrow and they both know she kissed him first and she hopes if she glares harshly enough that he’s not going to try and continue this conversation.

“Listen,” he says, takes a step towards her. “I want to pay you back somehow. Can I buy you dinner?”

She has to swallow down a laugh that bubbles up in her. All she can think about is that stupid party three weeks ago, and how he knew exactly what he was doing then, and he probably knows exactly what he’s doing now. She’s too smart to fall for that. She smirks at him, “Nice try. People are clumsy bastards, remember?”

His lips quirk as he recognizes the words. And for a moment she thinks maybe she shouldn’t have admitted that she remembered what he had said. She can feel the tickle of him getting under her skin. And she hates being tickled.

“What about a drink?”

She shakes her head, but doesn’t break eye contact. “You might spill it on me,” she says flatly, holds out her hand for his key.

He gives it to her. “I’ll pay you back for this, I promise.”

She doesn’t tell him she doesn’t believe in promises, except the ones she makes herself. She doesn’t tell him anything, just gets in his car and drives it around to the garage entrance, doesn’t even look to see how the hell he’s getting home with no car.

She finishes working on his Buick just as the afternoon guy gets there, and she passes on his key and instructions for Toby to get a new ride _asap_. Most days she’ll take her time, stretching her shift until she absolutely has to leave to make her afternoon class. Today, she bolts out the door as fast as she can; relieved she won’t have to see him again.

* * *

The next morning she yawns, shrugs her shoulder to keep her laptop bag from slipping and wonders why she signed up for a 7am class on Wednesdays. And also, _why this queue is moving SO slowly_. She taps her foot, takes a deep breath, tries not to think about how mad her professor is when anyone is late to her class. And yawns again.

Finally she gets to the counter, the lady, all bright red hair and an eyebrow piercing, is smiling far too brightly for this time in the morning. She manages to nods a hello. “Large coffee, one sugar, to go. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Red Hair nods but stops when Happy hands her a note. “Uh, no, your drink has already been paid for.”

She frowns, confused. She does not have time for this.

“Yeah that guy, with the hat. He paid ahead for you,” she continues, nods to someone behind Happy and she turns to see him standing at the end of the counter, waiting for his own coffee.

He’s not looking at her, he’s staring at his phone; but something tells her, the smugness of his smile, the way his elbow is leaning against the counter, that he knows she’s watching. She storms up to him, as fast as her tired legs and heavy boots can take her.

“Are you following me?” she hisses.

He lifts his head slowly up towards her, “Technically, I was here first,” he raises his eyebrows pointedly and then grins, “But hey, I got to buy you a drink after all.”

She narrows her eyes at him, reaches into her pocket where she’d stuffed the bill the cashier had turned down. “Nuh-uh. It’s a thank you, for the car. She’s running great now.”

“It’s a temporary fix,” she reminds him. Watches as he picks up his coffee from the counter and takes sip. She can see by the scribbles on his cup that his order was the same as hers. Not that it meant anything.

“Good thing I know where you work,” he grins at her again. “Speaking of work, I should get to mine. I’ll see you around, Happy.”

She doesn’t say anything. She has nothing to say. She watches him waltz out the door, nearly spilling coffee on himself and three other people. She watches him until the barista calls out her own name, and she grabs the cup with one hand, checking her watch on the other.

 _Crap_.

* * *

She takes her time walking down the hallways of the CompSci labs. It’s almost always quiet, but especially on Friday nights. The lights are already dimmed but there’s a soft glow pouring through the class on each lab door. There’s always someone working late. It’s usually Walter.

She finds the room he’s in, pauses for a moment to check the bulletin board next to it. It’s all tutoring services and Roommates Wanted. She can’t wait until next year, when she’ll move out of the dorms and into a real place.

“Hey-” she starts as she walks through the door, stops short when she realises Walter’s not alone. Sitting next to him, in all his denim jacket and awful hat glory, is Toby.

This week is really never going to end is it?

Toby smiles up at her, a smug knowing smirk “Are _you_ following me?” he narrows his eyes a comical amount. She glares back.

Walter doesn’t seem to notice. “Happy, you’ve met Toby,” he says, pauses for a moment, “He’s helping me input some facial rec standards on this scanning software.”

Happy nods silently, sits herself down in a chair on Walter’s other side and watches them work for a while. Toby’s very descriptive, uses flying hands and references that go way over Walter’s head. But he seems to know what he’s doing. The way he describes faces makes her wonder what he really sees when he looks at people.

She stops paying attention when they get a call that their delivery man is downstairs. Toby throws some bills at Walter who goes down to pick up their food. By the time he comes back she’s opened her own laptop. She may as well fiddle around with her own term project plans while she’s here and they’re busy.

They’re halfway through the second pizza when Walter’s phone rings. It’s not his default ringtone, which means it’s Megan, she’s the only one who can get close enough to Walter’s phone to change it. Both she and Toby are quiet as he answers, and she wonders how much Toby knows, whether he’s ever met Megan, whether they’re friends.

“I have to go,” Walter frowns after he hangs up, shoves the last piece of crust into his mouth.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“I think so; she fell and may have hurt her wrist. She sounds annoyed more than anything.” he replies. He’s about to walk towards the door when he stops, looks down at the computer screen.

“Let me finish them,” Toby speaks up finally, “You know I got this, Walt. It’ll probably be faster.”

“Thanks man,” Walter pats his hand down on Toby’s shoulder, and even she’s impressed by this act of familiarity. “I can leave my swipe card so you can-”

“I’ll stay,” she says suddenly, the words out before she knows what she’s agreeing to. “My card works here too.”

Walter looks at her gratefully then heads out. They both watch him leave. When the door shuts behind him, Toby whistles heavily “And then there were two.”

He throws her a proud grin, and she rolls hers eyes, shoves another bite of pizza in her mouth.

They sit in silence for a while. She has her own laptop out, she should be getting her own work done, but there’s something about him focusing so intently on the screen that she’s drawn too. She feels almost like a moth near a flame, and she needs to shake it before she gets burned.

“I’m helping Walter finish his facial recognition software,” Toby says finally, even though she didn’t ask. He offers her a grin over his shoulder before turning back to the screen. “Your average run of the mill NSA/CIA/FBI programmes have to analyse the whole face for markers, Walt’s written a much more sensitive programme, which after tonight will also be able to read micro-expressions. And make it much easier to filter out suspects even when we don’t know what they look like.”

“Micro-expressions are the tiny little movements your face makes when you’re trying not to say anything. They’re easy to spot if you know what you’re looking for. Which I do. ” He looks at her, scans her face for a half a moment, “Like right now, the twitch in your lips and the slightly narrowing of your eyes tells me you’ve got something to say-”

“How come you didn’t say anything?” She doesn’t know that now is the best time. She doesn’t know that ever is the best time, but her mouth has not been listening to her brain much this week at all.

“Say what?”

“That you’re a do- that you’re a genius.”

He looks at her for a moment, and she feels like maybe there’s a hundred micro-expressions going on here that she doesn’t get. “I was going to.”

“But?”

“When I realised who you were, I figured I’d let you work it out yourself. Y’know, for a genius, you were a little slow to pick up all the hints I was dropping down.”

She glares at him, realises that he’s staring back at her and she instinctively reaches out to the pizza box to reach for another slice, to have something else to focus on when she feels her hand slam into his.

When she looks down she sees there’s only one slice of pizza left. And two of them.

“I’ll rock-paper-scissors you for it?” He offers, a smug grin on his face.

She nods, mouth tight and straight.

They chant the words in unison and she brings down her clenched fist next to his open palm.

He laughs triumphantly and picks up the last slice of pizza from the box. She narrows her eyes as she watches him, she’s not even that hungry, but she feels like this guy doesn’t need any more wins in his life.

He pauses right before he brings the pizza to his mouth, raises an eyebrow. “I’d be willing to trade?”

She doesn’t say anything, lifts her chin ever so slightly. He continues. “Last slice for another ki-”

“Perv,” she bites out before he even finishes the sentence. He waggles both eyebrows like he’s proud of it, he probably is. And it only serves as another reminder.

They stumble into another silence. Well, not really. He scoffs down the pizza slice in like three giant bites, then turns back to the computer, humming something under his breath that she vaguely recognises.

“Hey, you wanna listen to some music?” he asks, doesn’t wait for her reply before he plugs his phone into the computer. Blaring guitar chords blast out of the speakers.

“Of course you like Jack White,” she mutters to herself, wholly unsurprised. He may have turned out not to be the cliché she’d imagined, but he’s still a cliché.

He looks over at her, eyes wide and impressed. “You know Jack?” Right. Of course. First name basis.

“I prefer the White Stripes. Less whiney,” she says flatly.

His impressed face turns indignant until she smirks at him. Yep. A fucking cliché.

* * *

She stays until he’s done, until it’s nearly midnight. She’s done more work sitting next to him than she expected to. After _Jack_ , they’d turned down the volume a little, and he’d introduced her to some new band no one's ever heard of. They weren’t half bad, and it seemed to mean a lot to him that she liked it.

They log off and turn off the lights, and when they hear the door lock behind them, he turns to her.

“What dorm are you in?” He asks.

“Why?”

“I’ll drive you.”

“It’s like a 5 minute walk,” she says. It’s actually about 6 minutes and 40 seconds if she walks at her normal pace. She’d probably walk faster at this time of night though, so she could get there in five.

He's shaking his head, “Walter would kill me if anything happened to you.”

She debates telling him that it’s probably safer on the streets than in his car, but she doesn’t. Instead she looks at him pointedly.

“I can take care of myself.”

“ _Obviously,_ ” He looks at her with mock seriousness, before breaking out into a grin and reaching around her to press the elevator button.

Her mouth twitches into a smile and she feels betrayed by her own face. The elevator doors ping open and she steps inside, aside, presses the ground floor button. Waits for him to break the silence yet again.


	3. the back-up boy-friend. (nov)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I asked you to call me with an emergency, not role-play one.”  
> He shrugs at her, “I wasn’t sure you could really sell it. Date evasion is a delicate matter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is upon us! Hope you guys like it :) 
> 
> (I promise actual college-y stuff is coming _soon_!)

She stares at herself in the mirror as she washes her hands. Slowly, taking as long as she possibly can. She looks good tonight, she knows it, and she can’t believe she’s wasting it on the idiot that’s sitting out there waiting for her.

Stepping away from the sink, she tosses the hand towel into the basket and pulls her phone out of her purse. Still no reply. She sighs. It’s been ten minutes.

Toby had been her last hope. Actually, he’d been her only hope. She couldn’t ask Walter, because he wouldn’t understand, and she couldn’t ask Megan because Megan was the reason she was here right now. The date, not the bathroom. Megan and her decided, persistent need to make sure Happy was “meeting nice people” and “having fun”. Megan and her puppy dog eyes and bouncy hair and whatever else meant that Happy had a hard time saying no to her. And Megan had made her promise she would _try._

The drink she finished while they’d waited for a table cost more than most of her dinners, but it was fruity and sweet, and thankfully very strong. She needed it, to help her look interested in whatever he was saying and not like she was actually hoping the fire alarm would go off.

If she had her laptop, she could probably set off the fire alarm herself.

His name was “Nik. No c.” and he’d spent twenty minutes talking about his first day of law school before he asked her whether she found her classes ”tricky.”

So she is trying. Trying to get through this date without punching him in the nose.

She takes a deep breath, summons all her patience and strength and heads back out into the restaurant. She dodges chairs and waiters to get back to the table, pointedly avoiding looking at him until she gets there.

Nik, thankfully, doesn’t say anything about the fact she just spent more than 10 minutes in the bathroom, instead her offers her another drink. She considers it, hopes it might make the whole evening go faster and starts to nod.

“Happy!” someone calls out from across the room and they both look over, along with a handful of other people. He’s standing by the entrance, looking winded and panicked. He waves at her, nearly hitting the Maître D’ in the face.

Her eyes widen as she sees him come towards them, glances over at Nik who is looking back at her quizzically.

“I’ve been trying to call you! You have to come with me, there’s been an accident with your _roommate._ _Sarah,_ ” he gasps out in a single breath, pulling at her chair. If she didn’t know any better, she could have actually believed him.

“Sorry, and you are?” Nik asks, jutting his chin out a little.

Toby looks down at him like he’s the most stupid man to ever open his mouth, and she dips her head a little to hide her smirk.

“Sarah’s _boyfriend_ ,” he says, like it’s obvious. Then turns back to her, “You should go home, she’d needs you there.”

“I should go,” she nods, standing up, “and see if I can help… _Sarah_.”

Nik stares at her for a moment, glances up at Toby before nodding and smiles like he doesn’t quite believe either of them. “Of course. Raincheck?”

“Uh-huh,” she shrugs, pulls a couple bills out of her purse for one drink she endured. But she’s definitely not planning on seeing him again, so she’s not about to owe him anything.

Toby’s already halfway to the exit when she follows him out as fast as she can on her heels. Again, wasted on that guy. He keeps going halfway down the block, finally stops at his Buick parked on the road and leans against the passenger door.

“Just like Thelma and Louise,” he grins triumphantly, waggles his eyebrows. She regrets everything.

“I asked you to _call_ me with an emergency, not role-play one.”

He shrugs at her, “I wasn’t sure you could really sell it. Date evasion is a delicate matter.”

She glances back up the street, making sure that Nik doesn’t come out and see them. They should probably leave soon. “How did you know where I was?”

He pauses, kicks at the ground a couple time. “You left your GPS on when you were searching for the restaurant.”

“You _tracked_ me?” She bites through her teeth, because if she unclenched her jaw right now, she would almost definitely be yelling at him.

“Hey, hey,” he holds both hands up, “I saved you from a night with Prince Charles over there.” He nods back towards the restaurant. “Speaking of, we should probably run before he catches us.”

He unlocks the passenger door for her, doesn’t wait before he goes around to the other side.

“I’m guessing you haven’t eaten yet,” he says, one last grin before he opens his door. “I know a place.”

She frowns, furrows her brow; doesn’t know how she keeps getting into these things with him. She didn’t sign up for dinner. And she’s about to tell him as much when she realises how hungry she actually is. She looks down at her heels, thinks about the lack of food in the mini-fridge in her dorm.

She huffs a little, gets into the car. “My roommate’s name is Maya,” she says without looking at him.

She’s quiet while he drives, humming along to the classic rock station; she looks out the window, tries to figure out where they are even going.

* * *

The place he knows is a beach, or rather, a run-down burger stand across the road from a beach. There are old empty liquor bottles stacked up on shelves and the guy behind the counter seems to know him. Toby insists on paying for both burgers, even though he looks disgusted when she asks for extra-rare. She picks up half a dozen napkins on their way out and they cross the road.

Toby drops to the ground almost instantly, while she takes her time, pulls off her heels and buries her feet in the sand before she sits down next time. There’s a chill in the November air that she’s wary of, given what she dressed for.

He takes a bite of his burger, furrows his brow, and starts speaking before he swallows. “- doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Not my choice,” she shrugs, or shudders, “Megan set me up.”

He nods his head like he’s processing this, takes another bite of his burger. He chews for a long time before turning his head to her again, “Lawyer?”

“Law student,” she replies. “How’d you know?”

He shrugs, “Cologne, cuff-links, the general air of chauvinism about him.”

She smiles, turns away to take another bite of her own burger. He bets her five dollars that Nik’s major was political science and the look on his face when she shakes her head makes her bite the inside of her cheek.

“History?” He tries. “Philosophy?”

“Sociology.” She tells him finally.

“Of course! That makes so much sense!” He looks genuinely disappointed in himself, and she wonders for a moment whether she should just let him off.

Nope. She holds out her hand, palm open, and he stares at her for a moment before begrudgingly reaching into his pocket to pull out a couple of crumpled bills. She takes three dollars off him and ignores whatever he mutters about buying her dinner.

* * *

Their burgers are finished, wrappers crumpled onto the sand between them, and Toby is talking about his first day of medical school. And she’s only half listening, but she is trying to imagine going to college at thirteen. She can’t decide whether he’s lucky, remembers being stuck in classes that were too easy with teachers that were too lazy and social workers that didn’t understand. Trying to make friends with kids that thought she was either weird or magic, or a little bit of both, for showing up to like three classes then acing every exam.

Except English. Because sometimes you do actually have to read the book.

But then, at least she _looked_ like she belonged there; was the right age, the right height (almost). At least she had enough glare to make people leave her alone. She remembers so badly wanting to run away from whatever hell-hole she was in. And yet the idea of living in a dorm at thirteen, of replacing familiar creaky beds with unfamiliar ones, of having twenty year olds look at you like you shouldn’t even be there. It makes her glad that she stayed in school, glad for all the annoying kids who begged for answers, glad for the rooms and the bathrooms she would share with 5 other minors.

It turns out their way out was basically the same; a curious, overworked school counsellor that figured maybe they weren’t _just_ troubled or troublemakers. She was 17 when their frazzled old counsellor pulled her out of shop, the only class she never missed, for a meeting. She held her transcript in one hand and pile of applications in the other and told her about college credit and how she could use it.

And two years later she’s here, onto her postgrad in Applied Mechatronics, sitting on a beach at 10pm listening to one of the few people who maybe _get it_.

“So she’s just realising that a fifteen year old kid picked apart her whole theory and she – Oh! You’re cold!” he changes topics so suddenly that she actually turns to him, frowns. She’s pulled her jacket tightly around her, is feeling the cold coming in from the ocean.

“Here – let me…” he trails off, but before she can protest letting him do anything, she feels the warm weight of his jacket on her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she says, tries to shrug it off without unwrapping her arms, “You need it.”

“ _Please_ , I grew up in Long island with one sweater and half a coat. I can deal with this.”

He looks proud of himself, and like he’s expecting her to be impressed by this.

She looks away from him, makes a face. “Oh-kay.”

* * *

“Thanks,” she says as he pulls up in front of her building. “For bailing me out earlier.”

He taps his hands on the top of his steering wheel, “Anytime.”

She reaching for the door handle when he continues, “Does this make us friends?”

She looks back, raises an eyebrow at him. “Sure,” she says flatly and they both sit in a heavy silence for a few seconds too many. “Well, see ya _pal_.”

She climbs out of his car as fast as she can and slams the door behind her. She hears him drive off as she’s swiping into her building, makes a point not to look back. Nods at Rick the security guard, and starting climbing the stairs to her third floor dorm.

She hopes Maya is out, or sleeping, or something that doesn’t mean she’ll want to talk tonight. Because she’s pretty much talked out for one night and she has work tomorrow and Maya is smart, smarter than most, but she can be a little… much.

But when she opens her door she finds Maya sitting on her own bed, talking to Megan who is sitting on hers.

“Uh hi?” she frowns.

Megan sits up, inches forward on the bed so quickly that one of her crutches slides off onto the floor.

“ _Where have you been?_ I called you like four times!” She looks half concerned, half… impressed?

Happy frowns, pulls her phone out of her purse. Sure enough she has a handful of missed calls and unread messages. “Sorry, my phone was off because of the da-”

“Then why did Nik call me an hour ago and tell me there was an emergency with your roommate and some guy in a hat picked you up?” Megan asks, eyes suspicious.

“I’m fine by the way,” Maya deadpans from her bed. She’s looking at Happy like she knows something. But that’s sort of how Maya always looks at you. Like she knows the ins and outs of everything, even your back account.

“I-” she stops herself, she’s not going to lie to Megan. “He was a tool. So I asked a friend to pick me up.”

“Is that your friend’s jacket?” Maya asks, and only then does she realise Toby’s jacket is still draped over her shoulders.

“You have other friends?” Megan asks, then her eyes widen, “ _Oh_ , I didn’t mean-”

Happy just waves its off, pulls both jackets off herself and sits down on the bed next to Megan. She doesn’t _really_ have other friends, apart from a couple people she barely keeps in touch with. One of them is in Arizona now. Maybe. Either way, she can count her friends on one hand, and she likes it that way.

Megan scrunches her nose and frowns. “How much of a tool was he?” She asks, looks apologetic as hell, starts rattling off reasons why he seemed like a nice guy and Happy laughs a little, glances over at Maya.

She drops her hand down and runs her fingers along his jacket, thinks about how absurd this whole evening has been. But also how enjoyable. Maybe now she’ll have to start counting on the other hand.


	4. the seven coffees of highly productive all-nighters. (dec)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She's currently on her third cup, and trying to focus on channeling the buzz in her brain into her report and not getting distracted by ticking clocks and study partners."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a bottle episode, hope you enjoy it! The next chapter is New Years... ;)

The sinking feeling in her stomach gets worse as she walks past the study rooms, peering in through each small window only to see that they’re already full. The coffee in her hand is going to get cold by the time she finds a free room and she has to get one, because they stay open after hours and she’s definitely not going to be done by the time the library closes and Maya would kill her if she stays up all night finishing her report in their tiny dorm.

And she has to stay up all night finishing it. Because tomorrow is the last Friday before Winter break and her project and her process report are due at 9am. The project is done. The fifteen page report is… not.

She reaches to the last room, her free hand clenched in hope, and is relieved to see there’s only one person inside, their back to the door. The other end of the table is completely empty. It only takes her a moment to recognise him, his light brown hair and the hat tossed carelessly to the middle of the table. She opens the door and he looks over his shoulder.

“You look like crap,” she tells him.

He blinks at her slowly, like he’s struggling to focus. “Davis wants a draft of my thesis in my tomorrow or she won’t read it until next year. Twenty thousand words minimum.”

“How many do you have now?”

He squints down at his laptop. “Just over ten.”

 _Hell_ , that's worse than her. She frowns as she kicks the door closed behind her, makes her ways to the other side of the table and sets up shop. She pulls out a large can of red bull from her bag, one of several she's brought as supplies, and holds it out to him. .

He inhales sharply as he smiles at her and leans across to grab the can. “You’re a lifesaver!” He cracks it open in one swift motion and takes a long gulp. He's probably going to need more than one energy drink to keep him afloat tonight. “So what are you in for?”

“Process report.”

“For the thing you built. The one that…” he makes a spinning motion with his hand.

“The centrifuge, yeah,” she nods. It’s not just a centrifuge, but she’s just about to spend hours explaining how this thing works, she doesn’t need to start now. Besides, he’s spent more than enough time watching her work on it, she’s pretty sure he knows how it actually works. He’s probably just too tried to string enough words together.

“Have a seat,” he waves his arm across the table. “Mi casa es su casa.”

* * *

It’s been nearly five hours, and the clock is the corner is ticking so loudly she's considering pulling it apart. There's a pile of empty coffee cups in the bin; each of them took a break to get a round after Toby convinced her to save her red bulls for when the cafeterias close.

She's currently on her third cup, and trying to focus on channeling the buzz in her brain into her report and not getting distracted by ticking clocks and study partners. Not that's he's been distracting her. She's found out he actually _can_ keep his mouth shut, and that surprising fact is distracting in and of itself. His music is blaring out his headphones though, so even from here she can recognise whatever shitty classic rock playlist he’s put together.

He stretches suddenly, reaches his arms up and back until his t-shirt rides up, before his pulls his headphones down around his neck and checks his phone. “ _Bro_ , I'm starving!”

She stares at him, can't quite believe he has the shamelessness to call her that again, refuses to even give him the decency or acknowledging it.

"Let's get some food," he prompts her, then takes the final sip of his coffee and tosses it over towards the bin. It misses.

She frowns, glances down at her screen. “If you need a break, go.”

“I need a meal. Hard work requires energy, food delivers energy. It’s basic math,” he looks at her pointedly before standing up and grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Come on. One hour max.”

She looks down at her screen again, bites her lip. She’s actually nearly halfway. And actually very hungry. Maybe a break and some actual food wouldn’t hurt.

* * *

They go to the cafeteria, the nicer one in the Cooper building and she's surprised to find Sylvester waiting for them outside, wringing his hands awkwardly in front of his chest.

“I’ve been waiting here for 12.4 minutes. You know how weird it looks for a sixteen year old kid to be standing in front of a postgraduate lounge?! People will think I'm loitering!” He seems stressed and keeps looking between them like he's waiting for something

She shrugs, “Don’t look at me. I just found out we were having dinner five minutes ago.” She doesn't tell that he couldn't look less like a loiterer.

Toby just grins, pats him on the shoulder and moves to open the door to the building. “Relax, we got caught up working. Besides, this is hardly a lounge.”

But Sylvester doesn't move, just glares at him and points to sign above his head that reads ' _Postgraduate Lounge'_. She has to bite her check to keep from cracking.

* * *

She knows that Toby and Sylvester met when Toby was working as a counselor in student services over the summer, when Sylvester moved to the campus early to help deal with the shift. She’s not supposed to know this because Sylvester told Megan, and Megan wasn’t supposed to tell anyone but she gets this weird goofy smile when she talks about Sylvester and when she starts she kind of can’t stop.

She’s more surprised that Toby doesn’t bring this up. But she’s noticed he stops himself short anytime something about the previous summer comes up. And apart from Toby really, passionately protecting his doctor-patient confidentiality rules, she can’t figure out a reason why.

What she can figure out is that Sylvester is scared of a lot of things.

Like, _a lot_. Including the meatloaf at the end of the line.

Okay, fine, it is kind of terrifying.

“Sly, did you go to the topology meet up yesterday?” Toby asks as they sit down with their trays. She doesn’t know what he’s talking about, plays with the edge of her fresh new coffee cup as she listens. But apparently Sylvester does because he grimaces and shakes his head.

Toby cocks his head, but before he can say anything Sylvester holds up a hand. “Do you know the contamination rate of food at picnics? It’s high, very high. And besides, everyone there was going to be drinking and -”

“We talked about this. You don’t have to eat the food. And you don’t have to drink. And of course everyone is going to be older than you because none of them were smart enough to get into this school at sixteen. You _own_ them,” Toby lists off rebuttals almost automatically and she wonders how many times they’ve had this conversation before.

“But most importantly, nobody likes a -”

Sylvester sighs resignedly, knows what’s coming. “…dumpster fire,” he finishes.

“Exactly,” Toby nods, pointing a fry at him before shoving it in his mouth.

Maybe they’ve had this conversation too many times.

She swallows her food and frowns, "A _what_?"

Sylvester looks at her, “A dumpster fire. It’s a person with no control of their life or choices.”

“And who is made up mostly of trash,” Toby interjects.

She raises an eyebrow, “Is that the proper medical terminology, Doc?”

Sylvester laughs.

* * *

Toby grins at her as they reach their study room again. “Didn’t _I_ say this was a good idea? Food feeds the mind, you know.” He raises his coffee cup at her. They'd each gotten one more for the road.

She rolls her eyes but nods and taps her cups against his, because yes, she is feeling better, and more ready to write another eight pages of crap. He reaches for the door handle and she waits. And waits.

“Uh oh,” he says, frowning, pushing down on the handle again.

“Open it!” she mutters, impatient.

He looks at her with a scowl. “I _can’t_. Security guard must have locked it while we were out.”

She exhales slowly. All her work is on the laptop in that room. “Not good. I thought these rooms were supposed to be open all night. ”

“They are. If you’re in them, I guess,” He reaches into his pocket, “I’ll call -”

“Don’t waste your time, just move.”

He grunts as she elbows him aside and hands him her cups to hold before crouching down to look at the door handle. It’s just a standard Yale lock, simple enough. She pulls two paper clips out of her jacket pocket and bends them open.

It takes her like 3.5 seconds to open the lock and she could have done it faster if Toby wasn’t breathing down her neck. But once she opens it, he lets out a low whistles, close enough so that the hair on her neck stands on end for a moment. She shakes it off, and looks back at him with a smirk.

She thinks Toby tries to say something encouraging, but she grabs her coffee back and rushes to her end of the table, zones him out as much as she can as she opens up her report again.

* * *

There’s a soft thump on the back of her head. And then another on her shoulder. She stirs awake slowly, still keeping her eyes closed against the harsh glare of the room lights. When one finally hits her ear she lifts her head up and glares as hard as she can with tired eyes.

“What?” she asks, realising it came out more as a grunt than any sort of actual word.

“Rise and shine,” Toby grins at her from his ends of the table. He’s got one more crumpled up paper ball in his hand and he better not throw it at her.

“What’s the time?” She asks, sitting up properly now and stretching her back out. A lifetime of moving meant that she _could_ fall asleep anywhere, not that she would feel comfortable doing it.

“8am, you have an hour to print and submit,” Toby replies, and nods to the cup of coffee sitting on the table next to her unfinished coffee from her 10 pm run, and 1.5 empty cans of red bull. She looks at it suspiciously for a moment, her brain still trying to process... well, anything on an hour and half of sleep. Then she grabs the coffee and takes the longest gulp she can.

“What about you?” She asks finally.

“Emailed to Davis before I got these,” he points to the coffee on his side of the table. “20 thousand and thirty-eight words, not counting citations.”

She nods, impressed.

“Anyway, to all-nighters,” Toby grins, holds up his coffee cup across the table. She picks up her own and reaches out to tap it against his before taking another long sip. All she wants to do right now is shower and go to bed. Actually, the shower can probably wait.

But instead she opens up her laptop and sends her report to the nearest printer.

“You wanna get some breakfast?” Toby asks as they’re packing up their things. Some part of her is hungry, she thinks, but it’s being drowned out by the sheer exhaustion she’s feeling all over.

“I’m going home to crash,” she answers and picks up her things. One more stop to the drop-off box and she is _done_.

He nods, “I should probably do that too.”

They’re both turning to the door when their phones go off at the same time. She pulls hers out of her bag and stares at the screen, trying to make sense of it.

“Did Walter just invite us to The Garage tonight? Did he hurt himself?” The garage is a bar. Walter doesn’t do bars.

Toby confused frown turns into a grin suddenly and she peers forward at his phone.“What?”

“Look what’s on tonight,” he says, turning his phone to her. He’s opened The Garage’s website and her eyes skim the giant sketch of a microphone and the banner that says ‘ _Open Mic Night_ ’, down past the headline of ‘ _and our regular performers_ ’, past another couple of names until she hits one she knows. Paige Dineen.

She looks up at Toby who looks halfway between crazed and gleeful. Probably because he hasn’t slept. And she can’t help but grin herself. Almost in disbelief.

“You gonna go?” She asks as she opens the door for him, ecstatic to be getting out of this room but too tired to show it.

He looks at her pointedly as he shoves his phone back in his pocket and walks out. “You mean, am I gonna go witness a man with a 197 IQ try to be a regular guy at a student bar while denying that he has a crush on someone he couldn’t have less in common with? _Doy_.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Is he the dumpster fire in this scenario?”

“Hey! You’re learning!” he smiles at her, impressed and pleased and everything in between.


	5. helpess to the bass, hopeless to these fates (jan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not her heartbeat, it’s the music, and it’s waning. For the countdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Scorpion's _actual_ college au episode, lets have a new college au update! :P
> 
> Also, is it cheating that most of the January chapter takes place on December 31st? 
> 
> ((This was actually the second chapter I ever planned for this AU and ~~was heavily inspired by me getting drunk at a rave back in may and wishing something like this would happen to me~~.))
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it :)

She’s totally focused until a glass is placed next to the console. She doesn't need to look up.

“I’m working, Doc.”

“ _Please_ , you could do this with your eyes closed and both hands tied up,” Toby scoffs. She’s got her headphones tucked behind one ear so she can still hear him, but just barely over the deafening bass. This booth is supposed to be soundproof, but judging by the state of everything in it she’s not surprised it’s not doing the job.

To be fair, she loves this; the noise, the beat coming right up to her chest, the bright lights dancing through the darkness of the club. And there’s a pretty thick wall of glass between her and the hundreds of sweaty, drunk students that are dancing along with the DJ. So when they asked her to work the lights for the New Year’s show, she jumped at the chance.

She glances up at him, before picking up the glass he’d set down. Whiskey and coke. Scratch that; _cheap_ whiskey and coke. She hasn’t had whiskey since that party in September, although she doubts he remembers.

“I’m getting paid, why are you here?” She asks after a few sips. The whiskey might be cheap, but the drink is exactly what she needed.

“You invited me,” he reminds her.

She’d invited all of them, since the organizers had given her a bunch of free tickets to the rave and she’d passed them along. Sly was quick to decline, even when Happy offered to make him a fail proof fake ID, citing crowds and germs and the 178 ways a rave can apparently go wrong. No one was really surprised. And they were even less surprised when Walter suggested Paige use his ticket.

“And I’m regretting it. You’re supposed to be out there,” she nods to the crowd on the other side of the glass. “How’d you even get in here?”

“ _Please_ , I could do that with -”

She lifts her hand and pokes him in the side.

“Ow!” He flinches away, then looks down at her, “I dodged the security guards.”

She sighs, pulls the spare chair next to her a little closer to the console.

“Besides, you’d be bored out of your mind in here all by yourself,” he adds as he sits down next to her, scoots the chair closer.

“You can’t distract me,” she warns.

He could, technically. She’s pre-programmed the lights to change and match to the bpm and bass level of the music, so she doesn’t really need to do anything until the countdown starts. She barely needs to be here for the next hour. But she’s getting paid so she’s not about to slack off. Too much.

“Are you saying I’m distracting?” Toby asks, his lips quirking, and she regrets pretty much everything.

* * *

Here’s the thing about mixing alcohol and heavy bass. You feel it _everywhere_ , in your chest, in your bones, in your brain, in your pulse.

She’s finished her drink, probably too quickly, and is enjoying the view. The crowd, the lights, it’s all almost a little electrifying. The DJ is a guy she knows from some of her classes last semester and he’s good too. Not as good as her but close.

“So,” Toby says, finishing his drink and putting the empty glass back down on the console table, “You have any New Year’s resolutions?”

She shakes her head, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? I was just making conversation!”

“Don’t pretend we’re normal people. Like we’re gonna go to the gym or call our grandparents more.” She looks at him pointedly, watches the lights flash over his face, think she can see his mouth pout a little. He has to understand that it’s pointless, right?

Instead of nodding, he frowns at her, twists in his chair so that he’s facing her better. “If you must know, Walter’s resolution is to finish his thesis so he can win the scholarship money and put it toward Megan's research. Just because we’re smarter than most of the _country_ doesn’t mean we can’t have goals.”

“Fine,” she says after a moment, wondering how long he had to annoy Walter to get him to answer the question, drags her eyes away from him. “What’s yours?”

There’s a pause, and she’s say something about him being a hypocrite when he finally answers.

“I- There’s a habit I want to kick.”

“Okay, Dr Vague -” she scoffs. But when she turns to him she can tell he’s being serious. His jaw is tight and he’s not even looking at her anymore, but down at his hands which are playing with his empty glass. And she’s annoyed that he would start this without wanting to finish it. And she’s annoyed that he’s obviously keeping something from her. And she’s annoyed that she can feel her expression soften, can feel the defiance leave her shoulders. “I want to get my own place. After graduation.”

He’s still not looking at her, but nods his head anyway and purses his lips like there’s something else he wants to say. And she’s annoyed she can’t stop watching.

* * *

She takes another sip of her drink, lets the taste of cheap whiskey linger on her tongue for a second before swallowing. Toby had gotten them another round and even though she knows she probably shouldn’t be drinking, she really _can_ do this job with her eyes closed.

Which is what she feels like doing right now, because every time she blinks her eyes closed the buzz in her head gets stronger and her chest gets tighter, and she can feel it all over and she wishes she didn’t have to open them again. The beat has been perfect all night, every song melting into the next and the DJ is _definitely_ good.

“You wanna play a game?” Toby asks finally, the words all jammed in one single exhale. Like her, he’s been staring out at the show for a while. And she gets it; the lights are hypnotising when she’s not having to do them manually. Every so often she glances at him, the way he’s leaning on one elbow, the way his lips purse around the lip of his glass.

She doesn’t, actually. She wants to keep sitting here for another fifteen minutes before she has to actually get back to work. But if she happens to like watching him watch the show in silence, then she’s not about to let him know.

“What game?”

“Never have I ever?” he turns and grins at her.

“Are you fifteen?” She shakes her head, turns away from him.

“One round, loser finishes their drink,” he adds, pulling on her shoulder until she turns back around. “I’ve done some pretty _hardcore_ stuff, you might even be impressed.”

She gazes at him, blinks slowly and lets the bass beat through her for a moment. He’s biting his lip, arrogance suddenly wavered; watching her earnestly, eagerly, like he’s studying her, and she thinks most nights it would unnerve her, it _has_ unnerved her. Tonight, it’s more… energising.

“Fine,” she breathes in and out once more, and taps her fingers against her glass. It’s still nearly half-full.

“Never have I ever made out in a lighting booth.” She says quickly but clearly, watches him frown in confusion before she lifts her drink to her lips and downs the rest of it.

The drink is as strong as it was before, burns down her throat even despite the coke and she willfully ignores it as she leans over as far as she can and grabs him by the neck pulling his lips to hers.

He comes to his senses a moment later when he moves his hand up her arms and to her shoulders, his fingers burning like branding rods though her shirt. She can taste all the whiskey they’ve ever had between them.

He moves his hand up, tries to move in even closer, but she pulls away, holding herself barely an inch away.

“That’s not how you play-” he starts, voice low and raspy with a lilt of playful and she can hear him clearly now, can basically feel his words on her skin.

She doesn’t want to let him finish, doesn’t want to be reminded why this is a terrible idea. Instead she just presses her lips to his again, pushes her tongue against his teeth, relinquishes the tug-o-war until he’s pulling her onto his lap.

For the first time that night she’s grateful the chairs in this room don’t have arm rests; she swings a leg over him and scoots as close as she can. Toby reaches up the back of her shirt, his hands on her inching up towards her bra and she arches into him, grinds her hips down. His moan vibrates in her throat just like the bass did before, and he moves his lips to her jawline and down her neck to her collar bone. His mouth sucks gently at her skin, before running his tongue over the same spot and she twists her hands into his shirt, relishes in the feeling of the her heart pounding, how it echoes through her.

Until she recognises the beat count.

It’s not her heartbeat, it’s the music, and it’s waning.

For the countdown.

“ _Shit_ ,” she gasps, pushes herself off him as fast as she can.

Toby yelps, almost falls out of the chair. She doesn’t even bother trying to find hers, just grabs the headphones and leans over the console, hopes her count is correct as she starts pressing buttons. Luckily she can hear the DJ talking to the crowd, can work out what the next steps before she gets there. She gets the numbers going, tries to pull herself together.

_Ten._

Her heart is still pounding, all the way up in her throat. And she’s not sure if it’s panic or adrenaline or the remnants of his lips on her skin.

_Nine._

She uses one hand to pull the back of her shirt down, briefly thankful that it hadn’t gone any further.

_Eight._

The DJ grins out over the crowd as he holds his microphone to them.

_Seven._

She double checks the order of her lighting, presses buttons without looking. Because she really can do this with her eyes closed.

_Six._

Toby still hasn’t said anything.

_Five._

But she can feel him hovering behind her.

_Four._

She blinks away the last of the buzz in her head, suddenly feels incredibly sober.

_Three._

And confused. Because that wasn’t supposed to happen.

_Two._

But it did.

_One._

She exhales slowly. Maybe it’s relief.

The DJ yells Happy New Year to crowd and the screams are deafening, that she can barely hear the music start up again. She swears in her direction and throws her a thumbs up, but that’s ridiculous, there no way he can see her clearly through the lights and the glass and the space between them.

Light projections of fireworks start, mostly stuff that she’d already programmed. And she stands up straight, stares out at the show until she feels his hand on her shoulder, then his mouth against his ear wishing her a happy new year.

She turns to look at him, finds his gaze and is caught, trapped suddenly in a conversation she didn’t plan to start. All night she’d been thinking about his hands and his lips and now all she can think about is eating lunch with him, and how he watches her work on her projects and distracts her with stupid chatter until she tries to use the wrong size wrench. 

“Hey,” he nudges her and she focuses on him. He’s looking at her so intently, and it’s back to unnerving and she swallows it down, says nothing. “Not a bad way to end the year huh?” He wiggles both eyebrows, before offering her a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and taking a step back.

“Let the record show though,” he continues, “that I am irresistible.”

She scoffs, rolls her eyes, turns back into to the console, and for once feels infinitely grateful for his stupid wisecracks.

The guy who’s lighting the after-party show should be here in a bit, and she tells him as much, urges him to find their friends, tell him she’ll meet them somewhere, anywhere but this booth that suddenly feels a lot smaller than it already is. He looks at her for a moment before agreeing, tells her they’ll be waiting out front for her.

She watches until he closes the door behind him, sits back down in her chair, and pointedly avoids looking at his. She wonders if he knows why she kissed him, why she wanted to, why she couldn’t not. Genuinely, because she has no fucking clue.


	6. why not; (feb)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She looks at her drink, which is bright pink and has a piece of watermelon shaped like a heart stuck onto the side of the glass. It was half-price but still, she’s not sure if it’s worth it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!! As they say, new year, new chapter, right? Anyway, this one might take things in a slightly different direction but I hope you enjoy it.

The barista calls out her name and she pulls at Toby’s elbow as she gets up. She’s good, but even she can’t carry four coffees by herself.

“What’s the big news Walt wants to share?” He asks, dips his head closer to her ear as they walk between tables and chairs and the regular Wednesday morning rush.

“I dunno,” she shrugs heavily, keeps her distance, “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

He drops it; keeps walking, narrowly misses a woman getting out of seat and no one says anything until she’s picking up the first two cups of coffee off the counter and she hears her name from behind.

“Happy. Hey -” he takes another step forward as she whips around, and points to himself. “Temple? I’m in your Mechatronics class?

“I know,” she says, word coming out blunt and clipped, unintentionally. She bites at her lip, lets him talk.

“Oh. Cool,” he smiles again, even wider and she watches how it meets his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to ask… I’m having some trouble with the sound on my octave cat. I know you’ve already finished yours, would you mind taking a look?”

She feels a tickle in her stomach, wonders if maybe she should have ordered food as well, and drowns it out with a sip of her coffee. Which is hot; too hot. She forces a tight smile as the liquid burns her tongue. “Sure. Find me in class later and I’ll take a look.”

“Thank you!” Temple’s still grinning at her. His hand reaches out for a moment, but he glances down at her full hands and drops it quickly. “I’ll see you later then.”

“M-hmm,” she nods, taking another gulp of too-hot-coffee. She watches him dodge the tables, and meet his friends by the exit.

“What was _that_?”

Toby’s hands are on the other two coffee cups, but they’re still on the counter and he’s looking at her sideways.

“What?” She frowns.

“That,” he lifts a cup and gestures towards her body with it. “Ventral exposure. Isopraxis. _Your feet_.”

“You having a stroke, Doc?” She frowns at him, but crosses one arm across her body anyway.

He narrows his eyes for a moment before they widen; he lifts a cup at her again and she almost threatens to spill it on him.

“You have a crush on _whatshisname_ -”

“Temple,” she says. “And I don’t.”

“ _Please_. You lifted your chin to expose your neck. I’d bet my hat that if your hands weren’t so full you would have been playing with your hair.”

“I don’t play with my hair,” she glares at him. “And I don’t have a crush. He’s just a guy in my class.”

“Say that to the craniofacial erythema.”

“ _What_?” She’s definitely more than ready to him with something if he doesn’t stop talking; she might even be willing to sacrifice her coffee.

He turns away from the counter finally, and give her a knowing smirk that she does not like before leaning down closer to her ear again and pauses.

She waits, frowns, lips tight.

“You’re blushing.”

* * *

She ignores anything else he has to say as they get back to the table, but she sees him glance back to the exit a couple of times as Walter and Sly eagerly accept their drinks. Sylvester follow his gaze behind them, and furrows his brow, but before she can say anything to get their attention Walter clears his throat.

“I had a meeting with Richard Elia yesterday.”

She’s not sure why Walter would be meeting with Elia, but she’s impressed either way. Next to her Toby lets out a low whistle. “Forreal?”

“Who’s Richard Elia?” Sly shakes his head.

She’s still watching Walter, who looks a little too pleased with himself, but she drags her eyes over to Sylvester. “He’s the biggest single contributor to this school,” she explains.

“And a member of the illuminati,” Toby says. She elbows him in the side, and he groans before acquiescing, “… allegedly.”

“ _More importantly_ , he’s awarding a prize for whoever can come up with the best technological advancement in security or sustainable architecture. The winner gets a million dollars.”

“Holy Crap,” Sly breathes, and she only nods along.

“I want that money so I can move along in my research for Megan”, Walter continues.

“Our brains and a million dollars, we could make some significant progress in MS treatment!” Toby nods next to her, his eyes lighting up.

Across from her Sylvester smiles too.

“No,” Walter shakes his head, puts down his coffee cup. “I’m going to find a cure.”

* * *

She has a two hour gap between classes, and when she gets to her room she finds Megan lying on her bed, sketching something onto a pad while humming a song Happy doesn’t know.

“How’d you even get in here?” she asks. She’s pretty sure Maya’s been out all day.

“Oh, Rick knows me now. He let me in,” Megan grins at her and suddenly Happy’s not surprised at all. She nods, sits herself on the bed next to her, watches Megan shade in the edges of a scorpion for a few minutes.

“What’s that for?”

“Walter’s birthday. I know he doesn’t like art, but scorpions are his favorite so I wanted to draw him one. This is just practice,” she says, scrunches her nose like she’s not really pleased with it. Walter does it too sometimes.

She knows Megan prefers painting; big brushes and bright colors and no rules, but instead she watches her sketch neat curves on the page, going over her lines so precisely. She wants to tell her Walter would love anything she did.

“Hey, do you know what Sylvester’s favorite animal is?” Megan asks, still focused on drawing.

She smiles to herself; remembers how Sly smiles when Megan is around, remembers that Sly has talked about bird-watching a lot, wants to tell her that Sly would love anything she did.

* * *

The rush in the cafeteria for lunch should have died down by now, and if they leave now they can get food before she has to get to her next class. She’s just about ready to walk out with Megan when the door suddenly opens and Maya walks in carrying a large box of red decorations, and Paige follows her in with an identical one.

“Happy! Hi!” Paige smiles, puts the box down to give Happy a hug, “Maya didn’t tell me you were her roommate.”

“Maya didn’t tell me you were friends,” she replies as Paige steps back again.

“ _Maya_ doesn’t know why this is a big deal?” Maya adds, looking at them pointedly. It’s not. She just doesn’t quite get Paige yet, doesn’t get why Walter gets nervous when she’s around, doesn’t get why she’s so interested in spending time with people that are nothing like her.

“Ooh, what are we decorating?” Megan asks suddenly, leans on one crutch as she pulls red streamers from Maya’s box.

“It’s Love Night at The Garage tonight!” Paige explains, “Maya and I are helping out.”

“We’ve got red streamers, we’ve got heart shaped balloons, we’ve got banners -” Maya lists, pulling out random red and pink things from the box.

“Why?” Happy frowns, and regrets it immediately as all three girls look at her like she’s missing something obvious. She knows that look all too well, grew up with it.

“You know what today is, right?” Maya asks.

“Thursday?”

She hears Megan giggle from across the room and Paige looks at her with a smile that’s halfway between amusement and pity.

“It’s Valentine’s Day.”

* * *

  
When she’s gets out of class she finds Sly early and waiting, and Toby unsurprisingly late. She leans against the wall, and furrows her brown for moment.

“Hey, you know what today is?”

“February 14th,” Sly says automatically.

“Yeah, but-” she starts when she sees Sly attention move to someone behind her. And when she turns around she finds Temple. Again.

“Hey Happy, thanks for your help in class. It works like a charm.”

“Sure,” she says distractedly, glances up at Sly who is looking at Temple with narrowed eyes.

“Hey man, I’m Temple,” Temple sticks out his hand and Sylvester looks at it for a moment too long before reaching out his own.

“Sylvester Dodd.”

“Anyway, uh,” Temple looks between Sly and her. “Thanks again, I’ll see you around.”

He pulls the headphones up from around his neck as he walks away, passes Toby on his way toward them.

Toby does a double take, eyes wide when he finally reaches them. “I knew I recognised him from somewhere! _Whatshisname_ was the DJ at New Years!”

Happy freezes for a moment. They haven’t talked about New Years since the countdown finished and Toby left the lighting booth and she was hoping it would stay that way. She glances at Sly, only half to avoid Toby’s gaze, and sees him unfazed. Of course he wouldn’t know, no one knows. She takes a breath.

“ _Temple_ ,” she corrects him, and starts walking, doesn’t even check if they are following her.

* * *

She looks at her drink, which is bright pink and has a piece of watermelon shaped like a heart stuck onto the side of the glass. It was half-price but still, she’s not sure if it’s worth it.

“This is stupid,” she mutters, picks it up and bypasses the straw, swallows down a couple of huge gulps.

“Hey, they’re half price, not half-strength,” Toby muses, as he takes a sip of his own pink cocktail.

Nearby Sly and Megan are sat at an actual table, and she can hear Megan’s laugh ring over the chatter of everyone else. At least there’s that.

Walter’s talking to Paige, although she can’t imagine about what, but she won’t be surprised if he invited himself to reprogram the bars sound system before the show starts.

She takes another gulp; it tastes like cranberry and sugar, before putting down the glass back on the bar.

“This have anything to do with Temple?” Toby asks, words slow and steady, like he’s known his name the entire time.

“No,” she replies, and doesn’t look at him. Bad things happen when she looks at him.

“Really? Because your-”

“Do not shrink me,” she warns, shoots a glare over at him. He shrugs his shoulder in surrender, takes a sip of his own sip. The silence sits between them as much as it can in a crowded bar on Valentine’s Day. “It’s got nothing to do with him, okay.”

“What are you talking about?”

She considers telling him how bad she is at this, the relationship thing. How she’s tried and failed and how pointless and humiliating and suffocating it always is. “It’s not worth it.” She sighs, not sure if she’s talking to him or herself.

He says nothing for a moment, “Why not? It’s obvious he likes you.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“ _Please_ , I don’t have to know him. I’ve seen him, the way he acts around you; the guy is practically sending out Mayday signals. Maybe you should put him out of his misery and ask him out.”

She rolls her eyes and extends her arm to punch at his shoulder, but he grabs it instead, steadies her close to him.

“Not letting yourself connect with people because you’re scared, that’s no way to live, Hap. If you like him, you should give him a chance.”

She looks at him, swallows down anything she might possibly have to say about the look in his eyes. She’s spent weeks avoiding looking at him like this, avoiding letting him get under her skin. Just like she’s spent weeks avoiding thinking about the knot she gets in her stomach during class, about hoping she might have half a chance.

She pulls her arm free, downs the rest of her drink. She’s not even surprised he’s managed to ruin all her efforts in one fell swoop.  

* * *

She’s still feeling the half-price pink drinks the next morning, but the coffee she gulped down before class has made dent at least. She’s about to leave, things packed, when she spots him still hanging out at his work bench, tinkering on his octave cat, brow furrowed in focus. It sounds good, of course it does, but something about the way he plays it; the music feels warm and inviting and it draws her over.

He looks up as soon as she steps closer. “Hey. This works like a charm, thank you. Again,” he grins down at her.

“You did most of the work,” she smiles tightly, hands gripped tightly around the strap of her bag. She wonders what Toby would say to her giving up credit. Temple almost blushes and she thinks it’s worth it.

“Can I ask you something?” His fingers stop tinkering and he turns to her properly, “Do you have plans tonight?”

She takes a second too long, stands a second too frozen and before she can say anything he’s apologising. And she’s still staring.

“Sorry, that was-”

“Are you into drag races?” she asks finally, cuts him off before he can finish being flustered.

And now he looks confused.

“There’s a rally in Pomona this weekend,” she continues, and watches it dawn on him.

“You know,” he smiles, “I think I am.”

“You want to go?” she asks, words tumbling out all at once, biting her lip to stop herself from smiling.

“Yeah,” Temple nods, his smile reaches his eyes. “Why not?”

 _Why not?_ The knot in her stomach feels fluttery, even though she’s had breakfast, even though she’s still not sure, even though her hope is hanging by a thread.

She smiles back.


	7. chance and circumstance. (mar)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Ever feel like the walls are closing in on you?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may seem like it's a little shorter and a little more sombre than the other ones and that's because it is! Bear with me, we'll get through this together :)
> 
> (Chapter contains a word that can be considered a slur, pls know I used it only because I feel Happy would not be conscious of its impact and would use it regardless.)

Its four weeks to the day since she asked Temple out, to the minute almost. Same day, same three-hour class, and same tools she’s packing up. The thought flicks across her mind as she piles her things back into drawers and her computer back into her bag. Four weeks. Twenty-eight days. She wonders whether he’s still at his desk, resists the urge to look for him, and she doesn’t even have to when she feels a hand land low on her back, a body leaning in next to her and she glances up.

Temple smiles down at her, “That took _for_ -ever. Hey, you wanna grab lunch before your shift?”

“I’m meeting Sly and Walter in the cafeteria,” she says automatically, because she is. But there’s a beat of silence and it feels too long and too empty. “You can come if you want,” she adds hastily.

“Thanks, but uh, one genius is enough for me, especially this one,” he leans down presses his lips to hers for half a second, “ _Three_ of you make my 4.0 GPA feel like a passing grade. I’ll see you tonight though?”

She nods; smiles at him, hope it doesn’t look as relieved as it feels.

* * *

She’s about to turn in through the cafeteria doors, when she spots Toby straight ahead, back turned to her, at the other end of the hallway. She stops for a second, questions her own eyes because she hasn’t actually seen him for a week, and maybe twice the week before. He’s cancelled on every plan he’d made, and she doesn’t even know why because he answers her messages days after she sends them, if at all. There’s a kick in her foot, a tightness in her fist, that makes her want to rush up to him and make him explain himself.

But he’s with someone. Or at least, talking to them, hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back on his heels a little.

It takes her a moment to place the face, but she realises the blonde bob is in front of him is Amy.

As in, his ex-fiancée Amy. As in the Amy they saw at the party the first time she met him. The Amy he’s only really told her about when he’s drunk and lamenting. The Amy that broke up with him.

Surely, Toby would have told her if they were talking. He ran into Amy’s new boyfriend once in the psych department and didn’t shut up about it for weeks. But then, neither of them really look like they’re pleased to see each other. She can’t read body language like he can, but even she can tell they’re both uncomfortable.

Hell, _she’s_ uncomfortable.

Someone grunts behind her, and she snaps back to herself, realises she’s still standing in front of the cafeteria entrance. She glances at Toby one more time before stepping inside and sees the rest of her friends, even Paige, sitting at a table she gives them a nods, and heads straight for the food queue.

By the time she comes back with her tray, Toby’s sitting at the table too, telling Sylvester that he’s _fine_ and not that hungry.

“Hey stranger,” she deadpans. He looks up and she’s not sure what she expects, a smile, a joke maybe. But instead she gets tight lips and some bullshit about his thesis advisor keeping him busy.

She knows enough about Davis to know that she doesn’t keep him on a leash. And she’s about to say as much but there’s something even more confronting about how tired he looks. So instead she shifts her gaze, smiles at the rest of the table and Paige takes it as an invitation.

“Happy, how are things going with Temple?” She asks, leans over the table towards her with a big grin that flashes all her pearly white teeth.

Her smiles tightens, “Fine.”

Paige nods. “Walter’s told me about him. He sounds cool-”

“Yeah, _okay_ , ten bucks the guy’s a Saint,” Toby interrupts loudly before downing the last of his coffee cup in his hand. “Walt, what’s the latest on the Elia prize?”

Walter answers quickly, looking partly relieved that he’s now part of a different conversation, which she understands. But next to him, Paige narrows her eyes as she looks from her to Toby and back again and Happy decides to study her plate for as long as possible before picking a fry and shoving it in her mouth.

Toby doesn’t eat, but he picks off her plate when he thinks she’s not looking, and if the tension between them didn’t feel three inches thick, she would’ve probably said something. But she doesn’t and Toby picks. And when she gets up to leave for work, she swears she hears Sly offer him some money, but she doesn’t stick around for long enough to figure out why.

* * *

She doesn’t see him again the whole weekend, not hanging out at Walter’s lab, not at Paige’s show at the Garage, not when Megan drags her out to brunch on Sunday morning. She doesn’t see him until Monday afternoon. Maybe it’s chance that she’s walking past the library as he is walking towards it, but it’s definitely impulse when she insists on joining him inside, follows him through the shelves as he’s picking out books, barely bothering to look at the covers.

“I could use your advice,” she says finally, when they’re in a pretty secluded part of the sociology and anthropology section.

Toby whips around, “You’re asking for help? Must be serious.” There’s a glimmer in his eye that she hasn’t seen in weeks; the familiarity feels weird suddenly and her chest tightens.

She narrows her eyes. “Curtis, if you’re gonna be a jerk-”

“No, I’m sorry. Please,” he nods for her to continue.

She takes a breath, lets it out slowly and glances up at him before taking another one. It’s not until he turns, so that he’s facing her fully that she swallows down the urge to backpedal completely and starts.

“It’s Temple. Me and Temple. How do I ... _know_?”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs, leans gently against the shelf behind her, looks at her boots before looking back at him. What does she mean? She means that every minute she spends with Temple she’s reminded that he likes her and she likes him. And every minute after that she’s reminded that she's still no good at this.

“Ever feel like the walls are closing in on you?”

He nods slowly, and there’s a look of understanding in his eyes and it feels earnest and reassuring and familiar in a way that isn’t squeezing her insides for the first time in days.

And then his phone beeps and he blinks and it’s gone. She watches as he struggles to hold his books with one hand and pulls his phone out of his pocket to glance at it before looking back at her.

“You guys have barely been dating a month, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Do you still like him?”

She nods. She does.

“That-” Toby’s phone beeps again and he pauses to look at the screen.

“Ah crap, Davis wants to talk to me. I have to go.” He’s shoving the phone back in his pocket and rolling his eyes emphatically, but avoids looking at her. So he doesn’t see her frown.

“Listen, don’t worry too much. Don’t overthink it. Just, you know, let it happen.”

She’s still frowning as she watches him rush away from her, watches as he brushes the shelf as he rounds the corner and a book tumbles down from it.

* * *

Temple winds his hands around her back when he kisses her; she pushes down a lump in her throat, grips at his jumper, melts into the kiss. They’re standing in front of her dorm building.

“You have to go to work,” she reminds him, pulling away from him.

“I do,” he nods, presses his lips to hers once more before he lets her go.

She likes him. She does.

“You could, uh, call me when you’re done?” she says, runs her hand along his chest, doesn’t look at his face.

“You sure? It’s gonna be late,” he warns, but she can hear him smiling. He’s always smiling at her and its warm and genuine and daunting.

But she looks up at him, raises an eyebrow, “You wanna fight me on this?”

“No M’am,” He’s still smiling, and she quirks her lips. She likes him.

She does.

* * *

Maya’s lying on her bed, watching something on her laptop with headphones over her ears and and she barely acknowledges her as she walks in. And Happy, suddenly exhausted, pulls of her boots and her jacket and climbs on her own bed before she pulls out her phone. Megan’s obviously bored because she’s sent her links to four different animal videos in the last twelve minutes.

But there’s also a handful of missed calls. All from Toby.

_Beep._

“Happy? Hey, are you busy? I wanted to apologize for ditching you today. We should definitely talk. Call me back.”

_Beep._

“I just realized you’re probably with Temple tonight, so it’s fine, I get you’re busy. But uh, I’ve thought about what you said before and I might have some advice. Real advice. Let me know when you wanna talk.”

_Beep._

“Okay. Third message. Just want to reiterate, I’m sorry for not being more help when you needed me. But what I said wasn’t wrong. You shouldn’t overthink things, but you also shouldn’t have to force your feelings. When you’re with someone… the walls really shouldn’t be moving at all. That’s my advice. As your friend. Call me back anytime.”

She’s frowning for long enough that even Maya takes out her headphones to ask if she okay, and she nods absently as she stares at her phone, takes a breath before pressing the call button.

His phones doesn’t even ring before his voicemail kicks in, and she swallows down the urge to hang up immediately. But instead she bites her lip as his voice is giving her instructions she already knows.

_Beep._

“Doc. It’s me. Look, thanks for the advice, but I think I’m good. I was spazzing over nothing and I - everything's fine now. Everything's great. I'll see you around.”


	8. this heartline is a landmine pt. i (april)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She hasn’t been to this place since last year, since the party, and it throws her how different it looks when it’s not crowded with people._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this took much longer than expected. Apologies, I really didn't plan to wait this long before updating but at least we are back on track. If it makes up for this, this is the longest chapter so far :)
> 
> If you're interested, the pt. ii is coming next and it's not so much a continuation as it is waiting for the second shoe to drop. (#cryptic)
> 
> Another guest star cameo down in this one! I have one more planned! :P
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think.

For all of Megan’s bright mind and excited eyes, she has some terrible ideas.

This might be her worst yet Happy thinks as she opens the door of the study room and hears familiar laughs from inside. It’s not that she can’t study Megan around, it’s that _Megan_ can’t study with Megan around.

Or Paige, apparently.

“Happy, you’re here! Come look at this!” Megan says, waving her hand frantically until Happy walks over behind them and peers at Megan’s computer. They’re watching a video of a bunch of birds having a tea party.

“Don’t you have a test in like two days?” She asks, eyebrow raised. She’s not surprised, really, and it’s less about the test and more about the fact that she just really doesn’t get the animal video thing.

She _is_ surprised when it’s Paige that nods, “But it’s only worth like 15%. We’ll get started in a bit.”

Megan cranes her neck to look up at her, “Can you believe it took us until this month to figure out we were in the same class?!”

“You do Art History?” She glances at Paige. She doesn’t mean to sound so doubtful, but she’s always a little thrown when Paige finds yet another way to knit her way into her life.  

Paige shakes her head, “It’s my elective. But sometimes I wish I took it properly – I love this stuff.”

Megan’s muttering something about dates and isms while Happy moves to the other end of the table and pulls out her stuff. She’s got piles of notes and blueprints and research to sort through before she can even start her report and sure, she could have done this when she was five, but it still takes a few hours.

“Fine, but _I_ actually have work to do, so maybe tone it down on the cat videos?” She says, doesn’t look at either of them but she does hear Megan sigh emphatically.

“Isn’t that due on Friday? Please, you could finish it like four times over by then.”

“No, she’s right. We should focus too,” Paige says. And Happy glances up, sees Paige resting a hand on Megan’s shoulder; Megan grinning at her and pointing at her screen.

“Okay, but in this one the otter is playing basketball.”

“ _What?!_ ”

She watches them, both older than her, giggle over the video and she has to bite her lip to keep from smiling. And only partly because she’s seen that one. Because if Toby and Megan have anything in common, it’s that boredom quickly leads to a never-ending barrage of YouTube videos and more often than not she’s on the receiving end. And otters are cool.

Hours later and the laptop has, thankfully, been forgotten in lieu of flashcards that Megan and Paige are quizzing each other with. She’s shoved headphones over her ears, and she’s supposed to be focusing on this article about the future of hydraulics but the article is decidedly stupid and every time Megan gets an answer right she slaps her hand on the table so triumphantly, even Happy can feel it at the other end.

Instead of dropping the last flashcard onto the rest of the pile, Megan flicks it at her and it lands haphazardly close to her notes. “Are you done? Can we get food now?”

Happy frowns, looks down at her watch and stands up immediately. _Crap_ , she’s supposed to be meeting him in ten minutes. “Sorry. Plans.”

Megan widens her eyes, “Oh, with Toby? Because Sylvester says he hasn’t seen him in-” but she stops as quickly as she started when she sees the way her eyes have narrowed.

“No,” she shakes her head, “With Temple.”

Megan frowns a little, doesn’t say anything and there’s a heavy pause in the room until Paige almost audibly forces a smile.

“That’s great! Have fun!”

Happy nods, lips tight. “Thanks.”

* * *

She’s stepping off the bike before Temple even turns off the engine.

“Thanks for the lift,” she throws him a smile, fastens her helmet to the back of his bike and pats it a couple of times, because now suddenly she’s not sure what to do with her hands.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Hey, I thought we could check out that new Indian take out tonight?”

Her first thought is that they had dinner last night; her second thought is that that probably shouldn’t have been her first thought. She swallows down the third thought.

“Can’t. I have to work on my report.” It’s not exactly a lie, but Megan wasn’t wrong yesterday either, she has more than enough time to finish it.

“You know, I think the only thing geniuses don’t know is time management.” Temple says. His tone is lilting and playful, but the joke trips over itself, and his laugh, which used to make her stomach flip, falls flat.

Time with Temple is falling flat too, and she can tell he feels it too. She can tell the smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore, than he pulls back faster than before. A week ago she was sitting on her dorm room alone working up the words to ask Toby how to break up with Temple. And he never answered the phone.

So she called Temple, and he answered on the first ring. She could hear him smile into the phone and if nothing else he’s _trying_. And she wants to keep trying too.

Because she likes him. She likes everything about him, except the way relief washes over her when he leaves the room, or her chest feels heavy when he takes her hand. His sheets tangle and trap her until she leaves his bed faster and faster each time.

“Hope work goes okay,” he says finally and she’s not even sure how long the pause is between them. But she nods anyway, steps back and watched him put his helmet back on and ride off.

It’s not until she gets inside the shop that she realizes he didn’t kiss her goodbye.

* * *

Walter is deep in concentration when she gets to his lab, and it takes her stomping her heavy boots all the way until she’s standing next to him, then dropping her bag on the desk right by his elbow, for him to look up.

“Oh hey, you’re here,” he glances up before continuing his work. Toby might call him dismissive, she knows because he has, because he’s grilled Walter on social cues before. Suddenly the lab feels awfully quiet.

She looks at Walter’s screen, rocket blueprints with scribbles all over it. He’s working on the fuel flow, she realizes, remembers Toby’s explaining his ideas.

“Isn’t Toby supposed to be helping you with that?”

Walter glances up at her, “Yeah, he’s uh- he’s said he was busy.”

She frowns. Walter’s not good at lying, and she can tell he’s not, technically at least. But there’s something else he’s not telling her and it knots in the pit of her stomach as she doesn’t say anything, as she sits herself next to him and pulls out stuff from her backpack, one by one.

* * *

Walter’s phone rings, and he should be glad that she was holding a pencil and not a blade because her hand jerks when the sound echoes through the silent lab.

“Yeah?” he answers, and she doesn’t pay any attention to it until his voice drops, “Hold on, _where_ are you? I’ll be right there. No! _Toby_ \- just – just stay where you are.”

She’s frowns, her back straightens, but she stops herself from jumping up. “Was that Toby?” She kicks herself for asking such a stupid question, but the look on Walter’s face is making her chest tighten and she’s not really sure how to put that into words.

“I need to go,” Walter says, and she’s not sure if he purposefully ignored her, or whether he

“Where?”

He just shakes his head, one hand shoving his phone into his pocket, the other shaking his keys, already making his way to the door. “I’ll explain later. Can you lock up?”

“ _O’Brien?!_ ” She calls after him, but he’s already out the door and she’s stays sitting, unsure what to do.

She stays for another forty-five minutes, and she knows she should leave. There’s not much point in her being here by herself, and it’s not like she can concentrate since Walter fled the room like it was on fire and she should just go home. Or go see Temple maybe. Or something, anything to distract her.

If she didn’t know better she might have tried to trace Walter’s phone, she knows Toby disabled his weeks ago, instead, she stays, tries to focus on the task in front of her.

When her phone rings, the sound cuts through her loud thoughts and she grabs at it, doesn’t recognize the number but answers anyway.

“Happy! Thank God you answered.”

She does, however, recognize the voice. “Paige? How did you get my number?”

“Not important. Look, I think you need to get to Cabe’s house.”

“What? Why?”

Paige gets about four words into explaining _why_ before Happy cuts her off and tells her she’s on her way. She barely pauses to pack up her stuff, throws half of it back into her bag and leaves the rest on the desk. The room will be locked anyway. She gets all the way out of the building before she actually stops to think.

She doesn’t have enough money for a cab. It’ll take too long to take the bus. For a split second she considers calling Temple, but relief washes over her when she spots a guy climbing onto his bike like twenty feet from her.

“Hey dude,” She calls at him, runs closer. “I’ll give you $20 to give me a ride somewhere. It’s an emergency.”

“Really?” The guys looks at the cash in her hand then back at her with an incredulous grin, “Sure. But wait,” he climbs off the bike and pulls out an extra helmet from under the seat. “Safety first.”

The words squeeze at her chest and she just grabs the helmet as she already climbing onto the back of the bike. “Just go fast, okay?”

He nods, scrambles back onto his seat and turns the engine on. “I’m Ray, by the way,” he say turning his head back for a moment before turning out into the street.

“Happy,” she replies, voice straining over the noise of the engine. “And take the next right.”

* * *

Paige opens the door, and lets her in without saying anything, just points towards the lounge. She hasn’t been to this place since last year, since the party, and it throws her how different it looks when it’s not crowded with people.

Toby is lying on the sofa and his eye swollen and his nose is bloody and his shirt is ripped and that throws her too.  

“What the hell happened?” she can hear her voice crack a little, and suddenly she can’t move from the doorway. She looks around anywhere but at him, and finds Cabe standing at the other end of the room, a tight frown on his face. She forgets she’s never actually met him because Walter talks about him so much, but right now she appreciates the sombre look on his face. He glances across the room and she follows his gaze, sees Walter walking back into from the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and some painkillers in the other.

But it’s Toby that answers her question. “I got beat up by a bookie's henchmen. M'pal Walt here saved my tuchus otherwise I would've been a goner.”

He’s almost slurring his words, one hand waving around in Walter’s general direction, who hasn’t moved from the far end of the room.

“Is he _drunk_?”

Toby shakes his head, then winces. “Nah, s’jus a concussion,” he pauses and winces again scrunching up his whole face which only seems to hurt him more. “Yep. Pretty bad concussion. And also I have three broken ribs.”

“Can someone remind again why we haven’t taken him to a hospital?” Paige asks from behind her.

Walter sighs, finally carries on towards Toby, “Toby doesn’t have health insurance.”

“And besides, I’m a better doctor than any of those schmucks.” Toby mutters.

She watches as Walter hands him the pills, as it pains Toby to even sit up enough to drink the water he’s handed. She notices that his knuckles are bruised and bloodied and she’s hit with a mixture of anger and relief that he got some punches in too.

“Walt, a minute outside,” she says finally. Walter nods, and she starts to move back past Paige, but stops.

“You better stay awake or I’m gonna do worse than the bookie,” she looks at Toby pointedly, hopes her voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels.

Toby turns his head to her, “For the record, I _know_ that’s a threat but right now you’re blurry and spinning so I can’t really take it seriously.”

She rolls her eyes, amazed, infuriated that he can still be an ass in this state, and looks at Walter before heading back out, and she can hear his footsteps behind her until they both stop on Cabe’s front step.

“You knew about this?” She bites at him, struggles to keep her voice as a normal level, struggles to not look for something to hit.

Walter shakes his head, “I didn’t know how bad it was until Toby called me tonight.”

“But you knew he was gambling again.” Toby’s always gambling, but Walter seems to know what she means: the big gambling, the _dangerous_ gambling.

“I figured it out,” Walter tightens his lips, “I know he’s the behaviorist, but I recognized his behaviors from before.”

She frowns, Toby’s told her stories about his gambling. Even about some of his big losses. But nothing ever this bad. Walter seems to sense her confusion, drops his voice a little more. “When Amy left him, it was pretty bad. Toby’s gambling is why she ended the engagement.”

She doesn’t say anything but the information hits her like a brick. She thinks about every time Toby has mentioned her, about the time she saw them together in the hallway, about every time Toby bet his last ten dollars against himself.

“He managed to get it under control over the summer,” Walter shrugs a little, but it's more helpless than careless, “I’m not sure what triggered it but he’s spiraled out again in the last few months. The bookie from tonight, apparently Toby owes him six thousand dollars.”

* * *

She’s watching TV with the sound on mute when she finally hears him stir. After a few hours of Walter insisting he drink glass after glass of water, and after Cabe lent him a clean shirt and after Paige replaced the ice pack for his eye a second time, Toby finally declares himself okay to get some rest. She thinks he might have done it more to stop everyone fussing over him than because he was really feeling better, but none of them could really argue with the only actual doctor in the room.

Walter’s gone home, promising to come back first thing in the morning, and Cabe and Paige are upstairs asleep. She not sure why she insisted on staying, not sure what she can do for him here, but the idea of leaving him passed out on the couch weighed on her so heavily that she couldn’t bring herself to move.

“Ugh, my head is killing me,” he mumbles, his voice low and gravelly. He runs a hand over his face then immediately winces at the pain.

“You better hope it does before I do,” she mutters and pulls herself out of the armchair. She fills a glass of water in the kitchen and grabs some more painkillers before she heads back. He’s managed to sit up somewhat, leaning sideways against the couch and she sits herself down in the small space at the end of his feet.

She watches him take the pills and gulp down the water, and immediately hold a hand up to his ribs and his face scrunches. Her own lip twinges a little, and she realizes she’s been biting at it for hours, biting down the questions in her head. 

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius?” she says finally and he looks up at her, one eye still swollen.

“I know, I know,” he sighs loudly, and it makes her think he doesn’t know. Not really. She takes a deeps breath and the question floods out of her.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Me, she wants to say, _why didn’t you tell me?_

He shrugs, “I was dealing with it- I thought I was.”

No, that’s not what she meant. Not entirely. Why didn’t he tell her about Amy? About before? About the debt? “Instead, you were being idiotic and reckless and-” she pauses, pulls herself together.

She’s not his mom or his girlfriend, she can’t tell him what to do.

She sighs, “How did this even happen”

“Happy, I’m an addict,” he shrugs ever so gently. “The Mesolimbic Dopamine levels in my brain freak out every time I play, and I keep seeking out the same -”

“Save me the medical lecture, Doc,” she narrows her eyes at him. “Walt said you were doing better. What happened?”

“I - I don’t know,” he says eventually, doesn’t look at her and she’s not sure if he’s lying because he feels guilty or because he feels ashamed. “Bumping into Amy didn’t help. She was trying to be nice, but then I said something about Berkstead and she called me resentful and immature. Maybe she was right.”

“ _Toby-_ ”

He waves a hand at her and continues. “I blamed him for stealing her. Or at least stealing my chances of getting her back. I blamed her for abandoning me.”

She's not sure how to respond to that, she doesn't know enough about Amy, about Toby _before_ , and one day she think she'll ask. But now she just shakes her head.

“Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve knocked some sense into you before the bookie did.”

His eyes widen for a moment, before looking across at her with a new level of severity, “Really?”

The way he asks makes her want to take it back, and she doesn’t know whether it’s the disbelief in his voice or the incredulity in his gaze, but she feels like she just offered him more she banked on. 

She ignores his question, instead pushes herself off the couch, and drops back onto the armchair next to it. “You should sleep.”

He nods, “You can go home, you know.” He says, his voice muffled by a yawn and then a wince.

She looks at him over at him, and he’s shuffling back down onto his back now, but in the grey glare of the TV she can still see his face, battered and bruised, and she can only imagine how his ego looks. She nods slowly, even though he’s not looking.

She doesn’t move.


	9. this heartline is a landmine pt. ii (may)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _before she can change her mind_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so it's only been about 20 years since I last updated. I am v sorry, it was mostly a case of writer's block mixed with inspiration for other stuff (see: the four stories I managed to publish in meantime) mixed with life getting away from me. I will say that the kind comments left recently _really_ did help with me getting this up asap. 
> 
> One more chapter to go PLUS an epilogue. It's all coming together. Maybe. Sort of. 
> 
> There's a couple more show cameos in this one. ~~Cookies for whoever can spot them.~~

She wakes up to a momentary haze of confusion, a bed that isn’t hers and the morning sun streaming through curtains she doesn’t recognise. Then clarity rushes through her, leaving a heavy knot in the pit of her stomach.

She sits up slowly, carefully, holds the sheets up to her chest a little too tightly, and looks over at the mess of lanky limbs and dark skin next to her. She climbs out before she can think, still careful not to move too fast or too loud and then stands there for a moment, lets out the breath she only half realised she was holding. The knot in her stomach tightens and reminds her that she needs to leave.

Her clothes are scattered on the floor, but thankfully, easy to find. She puts them on piece by piece, standing on her toes, picks up her shoes so she can put them back on outside and slips out the door before she can accidentally make a sound.

In the hallway she leans on a fire extinguisher to put her shoes back on, and a girl her ages walks past with a raised eyebrow and if she didn’t have this knot eating away at her insides she probably would have told her to mind her own damn business. But instead she gnaws at her lip, pulls her phone out of her bag, gripping at it too tightly, and heads outside.

It’s 9:17am on a Saturday and the sun is already beating down and it feels like it’s on purpose. She presses the call button before she can change her mind.

The rings echo hauntingly through the line, and she swallows down the urge to hang up before he answers.

“Happy?” he sounds confused for a moment, then she hears him clear his throat, “Hey. Morning. You have fun last night? I’m sorry I-”

“ _Temple_ ,” she interrupts him, almost desperately, before inhaling sharply. He stops, waits for her, and the silence is more than she thinks she can bear. She breaths out, slowly, and with it the knot unravels slightly and if it didn’t taste so bitter in her mouth she would swear it tastes like relief.

“Temple, I- We need to talk..”

* * *

_ **YESTERDAY // 14 hours ago.** _

She gets to The Garage nearly twenty minutes late, one hand gripping at the wrapped box in her hands and her mind on the hastily scrawled card in her bag.

She spots them over by the bar; Megan, resting on a stool, and Walter and Sylvester and Paige. And Toby. Toby holding a beer in his hand but he’s too busy talking to drinking. Toby with a party hat on his head that she’s sure was Megan’s idea. Toby cracking a grin as Sylvester looks positively scandalized.

She pauses, takes a breath, and tries to remind herself it’s silly to be feeling this way. The truth is, it’s been three weeks since Cabe’s and in that time she’s spent a lot of time with him, more than she should have with a final project in the works and him weeks behind on his thesis. And still, sometimes, when her mind is too still and too quiet, she remembers his bloody face and ripped shirt and weeks of radio silence and she doesn’t think twice before seeking him out. So she can see his face, relaxed and rested and reassuring.

Sylvester spots her, waves her over and she finally gets herself to move. She smiles at all of them as she arrives, but locks her eyes on Toby.

“Doc, your phone,” she says, holding out her hand.

He narrows his eyes, confused. “Why?” he drags out apprehensively.

She just waves her open hand at him and waits until he hands it over. This part is easy; it only takes a couple taps until his phone is connected properly. When the green tick appears on the screen, she holds out the box she’d been holding in her other hand.

“What’s that?”

He’s just full of questions tonight. He does , however, already have a hand towards the box, instinctively listening to her commands.

“A birthday present, _dummy_ ,” she says, pushes it towards him.

Thankfully he doesn’t bother saying she didn’t _need_ to get him anything, which she knows, he just sets on ripping the paper, then opening the boxing until he’s staring at what’s inside, eyes wide.

“You got me a watch.” Disbelief shades his voice but he’s smiling anyway.

“I _made_ you a watch,” she corrects him as she decides he’s taking too long, takes back the box so she can pull the watch out.

“And it’s not just a watch,” she continues as she pulls his wrist towards her and wraps the leather strap around his wrist. “It monitors your all your vitals, including your heart-rate. And it’s connected to your phone.”

“Really?”

He’s looking at her, incredulous smile plastered on his face and she drops her hands from his, looks at him seriously. “You said that high stress levels trigger your addiction. So when your heart-rate goes up, this can remind you you’re being a jackass.”

He looks like he’s about to ask another question, but before he can she holds up his phone, presses a button.  The sound of a donkey braying plays loudly, louder than the chatter all around them. Good. She needs him to hear it.

Their friends turns towards them, along with a handful of strangers, but Toby keeps looking at her like he’s impressed and several other things she can’t place, and she finds it easy to ignore them.

It takes a few moments for Toby to drag his gaze away from her to look at his wrist. “I feel like I should be insulted but I don’t care. This is great. _Thank you_.”

She shrugs her shoulder, pulls her gaze from his body, from his knuckles that have healed, from his chest where his ribs have stopped aching, “Glad I could help.”

* * *

She’s sitting at the bar, nursing some fancy tequila drink with an umbrella in it that Megan and Paige talked her into getting after she was already two drinks down. It tastes like pineapple and bad decisions. She’s not sure exactly where Megan’s gone but she can still see Paige, by the stage at the end of the bar, talking to some tall guy wearing a baseball tee.

“Hey, where’s Temple tonight. I told you to invite him.” Toby asks, sidling up on a stool beside her. He’s drinking beer, and not much of it. That’s part of his recovery plan, he’s told her all about it. He’s told her a lot about his plan, with a level of confidence that almost makes her uneasy. Or maybe that’s just how much she wants it to work.

She swallows another sip before replying. “Working. He has a gig.”

Toby watches her for a moment and she feels her stomach drop as she waits for him to continue.

“Is everything alright with you two?”

They haven’t really talked about Temple since the library, they haven’t even talked about the messages he left her or the voicemail she replied with. So Toby doesn’t know that they barely even see each other anymore, that every touch feels like it’s one too many, that she doesn’t know what she’s doing wrong but none of it feels right.

Temple’s the longest relationship she’s ever had, and he’s the first person she’s dated that doesn’t treat her like something she’s not and the fear of hurting him is foreign and uncomfortable and overwhelming.

She tightens a smiles and glances at him. “I don’t need you analyzing my relationship, Doc.”

He waits a beat before acquiescing, “Fine. Just – If you do want to talk, I’m here okay? Feelings have a bad habit of building up in a person the same way exhaust fumes can clog up a muffler.”

She narrows her eyes, half wondering how long it took him to come up with that metaphor. “That’s stupid.”

“No, I’m serious. When a muffler clogs up, the exhaust can’t get out and the pressure increases. Without releasing that pressure-”

“I know what happens, okay?!” she cuts him off, hands clenched around her glass and her voice just holding on to a normal volume. She takes a breath, continues slowly. “I’m fine. I’m not going to blow up.”

She’s really not in the mood to talk about this right now anyway, looks around the bar trying to find anything she can change the topic with when she feels a hand on her shoulder. It stays there until she turns her head back to him, and then squeezes gently before letting go. His eyes are soft and solemn and she frowns at them.

“When I couldn’t deal with things, I relied on a crappy way to release the pressure I was feeling. I don’t want you to a make the same mistake, okay?”

One part of her brain is hurling her glass in his face, offended and angry that he would dare be so condescending. That he would dare think he has a say in what she does. That he would dare be so concerned for her well-being when he so recklessly ignored his own.

The other part remembers his bloody face, and ripped shirt and she thinks that pressure he's talking about builds up a little more.

* * *

Toby gives her some space and she finishes the tangy tropical tequila _thing_ she was drinking. Then she goes and finds Megan making new friends, impressing them withrough comic sketches on a bar napkin, and finds Sylvester wiping at a table with the same thing, though he’s somehow still smiling, and finds Walter trying resolutely to make awkward conversation with someone from Cabe’s class, and then she finds Toby all over again, telling her that he’s about to head home. She’s about to comment on how early it is, but then she remembers his recovery plan and the dark circles that used to live under his eyes and just nods.

“I didn’t say it before. But, uh, Happy Birthday Grandpa.” She punches him playfully in the shoulder and regrets it immediately when he looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

“You know I’m only four years older than you, right?”

She bites down her smile and shakes her head, while shoving a hand in her bag. “I know you also like reading so here.” She pulls out the card she’d written, hands it to him before she can change her mind.

The minute she stands there as he reads feels like the longest minute of her life but she watches as his eyes flick across the card, as his lips quirk further into a smile. Finally he closes it, presses it close to his chest.

“This, wow, this definitely makes up for calling me a jackass,” he says, his voice tripping over itself a little. He’s still smiling.

She bites at her lip, tries to think of something to say before she gives up, steps forward and hugs him. Her arms are tight around his waist, and her head fits under his chin, and her hands tuck under his jacket and she’s not usually one for hugging but –

His phone brays loudly from his pocket, the noise jolting them apart. She takes an extra step back just in case and the space between them feels heavy as he struggles to pull his phone out to turn it off. And she doesn’t definitely believe in luck, but somehow Walter gets to them just before either of them has to say anything.

“Have you guys seen Paige?” Toby shakes his head, and she pauses, remembers where she saw her last before doing the same.

Toby offers her a ride home, and she almost takes it but her head can’t seem to clear the loud noise from a moment ago and she shakes her head again.

* * *

She hadn’t realized how much busier the place had gotten throughout the night, but she manages to push herself back to the bar.

“Hey, can I get one of those yellow things my friends ordered before?” she asks the bartender, straining her voice a little over the music.

“One Tiki Tequila coming right up,” the bartender grins, gestures for her to take a seat.

She pauses, there’s someone standing on the other side of the bar stool, but it’s also the only one free. She sits and he glances at her with a smile.

“Hey. Weren’t you with the birthday crowd?” He asks, looking up towards the door most of her friends had just walked out of. She wonders if they were too loud or if Walter was too weird or whatever other reason he could have for noticing them. It might have been the party hat.

“Yep,” she nods.

“Cool,” he says, doesn’t say anything else and she takes the chance to glance back at him, thinks she recognizes him from one of Walter’s coding clubs or something.

Her drink arrives, this one with an extra slice of pineapple on the glass and she takes a sip through the straw. The taste of pineapple and alcohol and sugar and yellow is suddenly much more appealing.

She realizes that this guy doesn’t know anything about her and that fact alone is pulls at some of the weight on her chest. Before she can change her mind, she reaches over and clinks her glass against what she assumes is his jack and coke, waits for him to turn back.

“I’m Happy, by the way.”

“Nate.”


	10. fight or flight or face the light (june)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think it’s a good idea?” // “I think it’s the worst idea he’s had since he thought he looked good in cargo shorts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Here we are. End of the line. Epilogue coming soon. ~~(It's a flashforward).~~
> 
> Thank you.

She’s standing idly by the tree where they had all agreed to meet, waiting. They’ve been scattered all day, separated by first letters and majors and the rope barriers hung between the guest stalls and the graduates. She think she caught a glimpse of Walter at one point, before an usher rushed her into her row.

She does spot Temple now though,  across the green, and she’s relieved that she hadn’t had actually bumped into him, that their names were far enough apart. The last few weeks of class had been uncomfortable and guilt-ridden, despite Temple smiling, despite him saying he’s okay, that they could still be friends, that he just needs some time and space.

Maybe she needs the same. The ceremony itself had been long and tedious, and when she stood on the stage she looked out at faces she half recognised, heard cheers that sounded like Megan and Paige from the stalls and thought about how this entire year has been almost the complete opposite. Short and eventful and confusing , and now she’s standing alone, gripping a piece of paper in hands with part pride and part relief and part uncertainty.

She’s thinking that she can’t wait to take off this robe, the polyester sticking to her in the afternoon sun.

She’s thinking about not seeing anyone for a while, about untangling herself from the mess that she’s feeling, from the looks she’s can’t decipher, from the plans everyone keep trying to make.  

She’s thinking about finding the cheapest ride she can get her hands on, fixing it up, and riding as far as a tank can get her. And then maybe more.

She’s been thinking about it a lot recently.

“Hey can I talk to you for a sec?” A familiar hand rests on her back and she whirls around to see Toby, robed up like she is but with an extra stole over his shoulders. His cheeks are red from the heat, and his eyes, his eyes are wide and bright and hopeful.  

She swallows, looks around. “Everyone else is about to get here.”

“I’ll be quick,” he says, waits for her to nod before he takes a deep breath, one that makes her stomach churn a little, and then, finally, continues.

“Happy, I-”

“Toby! Happy!” They hear Paige’s voice from a few yards away, and they both turn towards the noise, Toby muttering something under his breath.

Truthfully, she’s relieved. She’s more than relieved.

Paige is with Walter and Megan and when they reach them, she lets Paige give her tight hug and Megan whispers an excited “ _Congratulations”_ in her ear and presses a kiss to her cheek and she makes it a point not to look at Toby.

It’s another moments before Sly joins them, apologising for being late. Toby doesn’t even let him finish his sentence before he pats him on the back.

“Please, I’ve got eyes, I saw you talking to those kids over there. Did I not say you would make friends?!” He smirks, his voice playful and light and miles away from a minute ago.

Sylvester smiles hesitantly, “I’m not really sure I would call them friends.”

“Besides, he already has friends,” Megan adds, grinning brightly as she taps her crutch gently against Sylvester’s ankle. Sylvester smiles for real this time.

There’s a moment then, where the ease between them all only teeters on awkward, where she feels her stomach unwind a little bit. It lasts until Walter clears his throat.

“I’d like to show you all something after dinner. A surprise.”

She narrows her eyes instinctively, but Toby beats her to the punch. “Walter O’Brien doesn’t do surprises,” he points out, suspicious and rightfully so.  

Paige rests a hand on Walters shoulder, leans towards them, “Trust me, I think you’ll like this one. But uh,” she looks around them, looks _for_ someone. “Before we go, there’s someone I would like you to meet.”

She’s sort of aware that her eyes are still narrowed but does nothing, as Paige gestures to someone behind them and a guy, tall and vaguely familiar walks towards them.

“Everyone, this is Drew,” she says, pauses for a moment and Happy watches Drew slip an arm around her waist. “My... boyfriend.”

Drew smiles, shows off all his teeth. “It’s nice to finally meet you all. Paige has told me so much about you.”

“Great! If only we could say the same,” Toby quips, and she aims an elbow at his ribs but he’s already stepping forward and offering his hand. “Dr. Toby Curtis. MD _and_ PhD.”

“I’m Sylvester,” Sly pipes up from next to her with a tight smile, hands firmly by his side.

She introduces herself, her voice flat and her mouth tight, while Megan smiles a little too widely, annunciates a little too much. And then Walter stumbles over his own name before trying to make awkward conversation that makes her stomach churn more than before.

Even Paige seems relieved when Drew leaves.

* * *

“It just doesn’t make sense. How could Paige not tell us about Drew?” Sylvester puzzles. He’s been talking about it since they piled into Toby’s car, thankfully without their robes, on the way to dinner. Walter, Paige and Megan are in Walter’s car, a minute ahead of them, and at least she’s pretty sure they’re not talking about the same thing.

Toby shrugs, his hands on the wheel. “It makes perfect sense. The guy is tall, handsome, and a varsity pitcher. Of course Paige is attracted to him. That scene that happened out there? That’s exactly why she didn’t tell us.”

She frowns in the back seat, “I thought the only reason she started hanging out with us was because she was into O’Brien?”

Sylvester is nodding, but Toby scoffs audibly. “Have you _met_ Walter? He’s a lanky ego-maniac with a one track mind. She’s not going to wait for him to get his act together.”

His words seem pointed, even though she knows they weren’t meant to be. But she leans back against the seat anyway, bites at her lip.

“But Walter is going to be okay, right?” Sylvester asks.

“He’ll be fine. Besides, just because Paige is with Drew and things are messy doesn’t mean it won’t all work out in the end. Trust me. I’ve seen this movie a bunch of times,” he nods assuredly, and glances up at her in the rear-view mirror.  

She hasn’t seen this movie at all.

* * *

The restaurant is small and colorful and their table for six just about takes up half of it. She about to sit down when Toby grabs at her hand; pulls her away from the chair. “Can we talk?”

“You wanna do this now?” She asks, eyebrows raised, but lets him pull her to the door.

They’re standing outside, Toby’s hand still holding hers. He’s staring at her, and she’s staring back. The thing is, she recognizes this look. She’s seen is on his face hundreds of times, and she must have dismissed it every single time, as nothing, as _Toby_. But now there’s a lump in her throat and the hairs on her neck are standing up and -

“Happy, I realise that after today everything could change. But before it does, I’m might as well be honest. By now, I figured you’d know, but in case you don’t: Happy Quinn, I am in love-”

“Hey,” Sylvester pops his head out the door, waves a hand to get their attention. “We’re ordering, are you guys ready?”

“Uh, yeah, perfect timing,” she mutters, throws a glance to Toby before moving back inside as fast as she can. She takes the last seat at the end of the table, next to Megan. She thinks Sylvester may have been sitting there before, but she’s not sure she can bring herself to care.

And she’s not sure if anyone notices that she doesn’t look at Toby once, that she barely touches her food, that she downs a glass of wine as soon as it’s placed in front of her.

* * *

They tail Walter’s car to a rundown garage in downtown L.A., and Toby and Sylvester seem equally as confused as she is. Walter, however, just smiles over his shoulder as he unlocks the heavy metal door.  Though, the lock is so rusted, she’s pretty sure he could have just pushed it open. Inside, he flips a switch and the place lights up. Sort of. About half the lights are actually working.

“Uh, Walter. What is this place?” Sylvester asks first as they file in. Happy can’t see his face but she can hear the horror in his voice. The place is half filthy and half falling apart. She can spot water damage on two of the four support beams and she’s barely made it inside yet.

“And now for the people that _can’t_ read your mind?” Toby prompts after a moment, brows furrowed as he looks around.

“This-,” Walter looks around, and he seems almost giddy, which is worrying, “-is our new office. I’ve decided to use the money I won from Elia’s grant to start a team. _Us.”_

“ _What?_ ” She’s not actually sure which one of them spoke, or whether it was all of them. But Walter doesn’t look fazed.

“Think about it! We’re all geniuses, imagine how brilliant we could be if we worked _together_. And we would get paid.”

“Doing what?” She asks bluntly, because truthfully, she’s not about to trade in her life to be a lab rat.

Walter gets even more excited and she almost regrets the question. “High-tech security mainly. Sly and I have the coding experience. Happy, you can build anything.”

She knows she can. But that’s not the point.

“Me, too? What exactly am I supposed to do? Psychoanalyze the computers?”

“Toby! You – you can help put together threat profiles and identify weak spots. A year ago, I would have said I would have said I didn’t need your expertise, but I have learned that that is false. _See_ , we can all teach each other new things.” Walter smiles, like he’s finally getting the joke.

She looks over at Toby who is looking at her with the same bewildered expression. And Walter continues.

“I’m calling it _Scorpion_.”

This part must’ve also been a surprise to Megan, who suddenly laughs out loud. And Walter’s starts explaining why to Sylvester, who still looks as confused and conflicted as she feels.

Except maybe not quite. Because suddenly she’s sure that the old cracked concrete walls are moving in on them and she doesn’t know what to think. Doesn’t know how to deal with this after everything that happened today, after her perfect plan from this morning has been sideswiped by someone else’s idea, by someone else’s feelings.

“I need a minute,” she mutters, pushes past them all and heads towards the first thing she can see: the stairs.  She goes up, as fast as her heels can carry her. She’s not even sure where they lead but right now, she doesn’t care.

* * *

Upstairs leads to a loft, but past that, there’s a door. She pulls at the handle, grateful that this one is unlocked, and steps out onto an open rooftop. The air is still warm; the sun has just started to set. And the whole place is empty apart from an old plastic table in the corner. She lets the door crash closed behind her for a second before wandering over to the edge, resting her arms up on the brick wall.

From here the skyscrapers downtown are looming, casting shadows over the pink-orange haze. None of it means anything at all and for the first time today she thinks can breathe easy.

This morning she barely knew what she was doing tomorrow. And she liked it. After a year of being stuck in one place, stuck in shifts and timetables and deadlines, she was looking forward to freedom.  

And now they’re asking her to stay. And that is scary and huge, but.

But no one has ever asked her to stay before.

“You gonna say yes?” His voice comes out of nowhere. She hasn’t heard him walk up behind her at all, and she’s not sure if she was too distracted or he was trying to be quiet.  Either way, she holds her breath.

“You think it’s a good idea?” She counters after a moment. The real answer is she doesn’t know. Maybe Walter has a point; maybe they would be brilliant together. Or at least, hopefully, less dysfunctional.

Toby rests his elbows on the wall, looks out towards the skyline. “I think it’s the worst idea he’s had since he thought he looked good in cargo shorts.”

She glances at him, takes him in. He looks excited, eyes sparkling, lips holding back a smile. “You want to do it anyway,”

He looks back at her, “I can see you do.”

She pauses, turns away from him. “It could be a good for us, Doc. Not like we can keep pretending  we fit in with normal people.”

“ _But?_ ”

She takes a breath, steadies herself against the wall, and flattens her palms out on the rough surface. “If we do this, we stay friends. _Just_ friends.”

It has to keep herself from looking at him, but she knows that she can’t. She’s not good at this, at any of it. Her mess thing with Temple proved that. And she wasn’t about to risk making the same mistake. She needs a line, somewhere, anywhere.

She can practically feel him stiffen next to her, and she forces herself to continue, “I’ve never had a best friend like you, and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

He hasn’t said anything, she realizes and after a moment, she looks over. “You’re not gonna fight me on this?”

He shakes his head, looks more settled than heartbroken and she wonders if she’s reading him wrong, whether she can read him at all. “No, I meant what I said. And if now’s not the right time for us, then I can wait.” There’s a resolution in his voice that she admires, that she wishes she had.

“You’re confident.”

He smiles at her this time, surely and warmly. “In us I am.” He holds out his hand.

She frowns, eyes his offer doubtfully. “You’re not gonna try and pull me in for a quickie smooch, are you? Because I swear -”

“Friends,” he insists, eyes wide, genuine.

She believes him, but ignores his hand anyway, turns back towards the skyline, follows the edges of pink sky across the horizon.

The thing is, she’s been having the same problem for the better part of a year. With nothing more than the steady weight of his presence, he draws her in like a magnet. She tries to fight it for a moment, tries to ignore it, tries to remind herself why she has every right to be scared.

Except, she’s not scared of _him_.

The thought settles in her head, in her chest, and she reaches out and winds her fingers between his. She’s half expecting him to say something but instead he gives her exactly what she needs, what she’s always needed. A steady, sure grip, a thumb idly grazing the back of her hand, a comfortable silence. An interlude in the chaos, a pause on the same page.

She hears the metal door open behind them and jerks her hand away quickly.

“You found the roof. Isn’t the view great?” Paige says with much more enthusiasm than she needs. And Happy realizes she hasn’t given them an answer yet.

“So, what do you think?” Walter asks, suddenly sounding like he left his confidence downstairs. And they all know he’s not talking about the view.

“I’m in,” Sylvester says quickly, looking more sure than all of them. “But we all get a say in the jobs we take. Nothing too unsafe.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Walter nods thoughtfully, then turns in the direction of her and Toby. “You guys?”

Toby’s already looking at her when she glances up at him. “Yeah,” she nods, turns back to Walter. “We’re in.”

Walter smiles and so does Sylvester and Paige never really stopped and soon they’re all smiling because the whole thing is surreal almost.

“Come on, Megan’s waiting for us downstairs,” Sylvester reminds them, takes a step backwards towards the door. Walter and Paige follow suit, and she glances back, checks that's he's coming. He is, nods her forward. 

She starts to move but lingers, looks over her shoulder again.

Waits until he falls into step beside her. 

 


	11. we'll grow; we'll learn how to be (epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s been three years and six months since they stood on the rooftop, the remains of the sun warming the sky, the feel of his hand imprinted on her palm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys! We did it! It's been 340 days since I posted the very first chapter and it's been a hell of a ride. Thanks to everyone who stuck by this through the ups and the downs :)
> 
> There's a little bit of time-traveling in this one, but I hope it makes sense. Also, saves the most important cameo for last of course ;)
> 
> (P.S. Listen to Incomplete by James Bay why reading this if you want the ultimate feels)

Today

She’s standing in front of him, her feet almost struggling to stand steady on the sand beneath her. It’s cold and windy and it’s Christmas and she’s waiting. 

It’s been three and six months since they agreed to join Scorpion. It’s been three years and six months since they stood on the rooftop, the remains of the sun warming the sky, the feel of his hand imprinted on her palm.

She’s staring, waiting, heart in her throat, because she’s said what she wanted to say, what she needed to say, what’s been hugging at her chest and tangling her tongue for days, weeks, months. _Years_.

He hasn’t said anything yet.

Somewhere nearby, Megan is sat on the sand and Sylvester is sat next to her, an arm over her shoulder to ward off the chill. Somewhere nearby, Walter is scribbling numbers into the sand with a stick, and Paige is smiling, pretending to follow along, her hands full.

But here, in front of her, Toby’s hands are shoved in the pockets of his jacket and he’s looking at her likes he’s searching for something.  

She hopes he finds it.

* * *

 

_Five days ago she almost dies._

It’s not the first time, not by a long shot. She’s not sure whether she’s lost count or whether she’s stopped counting.

Six hands hoist her out of the cold water; it takes that many to pry her foot free from the tangled net, to save her from being sucked to certain death.

And then there were two. Two hands, gentle, worried, shaking, on her waist, at the back of her head, trailing up her ribs, brushing the wet hair off her face, cupping her cheek. She coughs, tilts her head and sees his face, warm, dry, terrified. He’s saying something but she doesn’t even try and listen, water still blocking her ears.

Instead she just watches his lips move. She’s alive, she thinks. She’s alive and he’s alive and suddenly she's drawn to his direction. Surely no one would blame her for just –

She stops herself, waits a moment for her heartbeat to drop a little, for her voice to teeth to stop chattering before replying. She pushes herself up off the ground.

Not yet.

* * *

 

_Four weeks ago she’s sitting on the couch; hands clasped together, Megan next to her._

The whole garage is still shaking from Walter’s voice booming in protest, from his refusal to understand, to accept. Paige and Toby have trailed him upstairs, too fast for Megan to follow. Sylvester is at his desk, quiet and frowning and Happy looks at him for a moment before speaking.

“You know you don’t have to-” she starts but Megan cuts her off almost immediately.

“I’m not going to get better. I’m going to need more and more help. Walter refuses to admit that.”

“But we’d be happy to help you.” Sylvester says from the corner. They would, they all would.

“Thank you Sylvester but no," Megan smiles, shaking her head, "I’m tired of being stuck here when you guys are on a case.  I’m tired of feeling guilty for Walter wasting his time on things that won't work. Whitehull has a great assisted living program. I get my own room, I get my own nurse. I get to live _my_ life.”

“He doesn’t want -”

“I know. But he’s going to have to accept it. Now,” Megan gestures Sylvester to come over from his desk and when he does she takes his hand in hers and Happy’s hand in the other. “I’m moving in a month. Promise me that you’ll come see me. I don’t want to be the only grandma there without visitors, okay?”

* * *

 

_Three years ago she’s trying to keep her head down at her desk.  
_

The noise is getting louder around her, and for once it’s not her fault.

“Walter, you _promised_ we wouldn’t be doing anything unsafe!” Sylvester protests as he follows him around the garage.  

Walter huffs, frustrated, leads them back to his own desk before he replies. “It’s not unsafe because I’ve done all the calculations. Do you think I've made a mistake?”

“Of course not-” Sly starts before Toby cuts him off.

“You can’t calculate for everything, Walt. Besides, why would we even get involved with this? This is national security business. We’re not the feds!”

“Would you like to be?” A familiar voice asks, and they all look up. Cabe is standing in the middle of the garage, suited up like they’ve never seen him before. She frowns, looks from Cabe to Toby to Walter, who looks equally as confused as they all are.

“What are you talking about?” Walter asks, stepping forward.

“After your little stunt this week,” Cabe nods at Walter, half disapproving, half impressed. “Homeland got in touch with me.”

Behind Walter, Toby just lets out a low whistle, and Sylvester’s eyes widen. “Homeland Security? _Oh Boy_.”

“No, this might not be bad news,” Walter says, looking around at all of them. “Cabe used to work for Homeland Security. They want you back?”

Cabe nods, “Not just that. They've asked me to assemble a strategic response team. A team that can do what their agents can’t.”

Happy picks up what he’s saying, they all do, and there’s a heavy silence in the garage as no one is quite sure what to say. She stands up at her desk, suddenly feels too far away from the rest of her team.

“What exactly are you offering?” Toby asks, his brow furrowed, as she makes her way to stand next to him.

“Fixed salaries. Something a little more fulfilling than computer security. You might even save some lives.”

She lets out a breath, feels a rush in her blood at the thought. Instinctively she glances up sideways at Toby to find that he’s already looking at her, matching expression his face.

She’s pretty sure he had them all at _fixed salaries_.

“Does that make us agents?” Sylvester asks suddenly, more concerned than excited.

“Contractors,” Cabe corrects him firmly, “No badges. No jurisdiction. That part’s on me. I get the orders from Homeland. And I make sure you guys don’t screw up. _So_ , what do you say?”

* * *

 

_Two years ago Toby’s hand falls on the small of her back._

She's reaching for a bottle of water from the fridge. It’s the first day of the new year and she’s _this_ close to breaking her resolution.   

She whips around, glaring at him. “Drop it!” She hisses at him, looks around to see if anyone is within earshot.

“No can do. I think we ought to talk about what happened last night,” he looks at her earnestly.

She was referring to his hand, and shifts her body until it falls away. Not that she wants to talk about it either.  

“Nothing. Happened.” She snaps, “That’s the point.”

“Come on, we were _inches_ apart! And you made the move. And now you’re scared.”

“Wrong,” she corrects him, “ _Now_ , I’m regretting it.”

He sighs, steps closer to her with half a smile, “Why can’t you just admit that-”

“ _Guys?_! Is everyone here?” Paige’s voice calls from the front of the garage and Happy whips her hand up to cover his mouth, shoots him a warning glance.

“Drew and I have something we’d like tell you all,” Paige smiles widely, as they step out of the kitchen. Walter is already half way down the stairs, Sylvester wiping his chalky hand on his trousers.

“Finally. Thought _I’d_ have to make the announcement,” Toby mutters loudly next to her and Happy elbows him in the ribs, even though she has no idea what he’s talking about.  

Paige frowns and Drew wraps an arm around her back. “How do you kn-”

“ _Please_ , have a little respect. I haven’t seen you touch a coffee in at least three weeks, you’ve ditched the heels and you’ve been resting you hand on your stomach whenever you feel anxious. Like now,” Toby gestures towards her and everyone looks. Paige moves her hand off her stomach quickly, stands up uncomfortably straight.

“Wait, you’re saying-” Sly starts, moving his gaze form Paige to Toby.

“I’m saying our man Drew here has managed to hit a home run.”

There are a few levels of irony in there, and even Drew looks like he wants laugh.

“I don’t understand,” Walter narrows his eyes, confused.

Happy pokes Toby before he can say anything else and they all wait as Paige lets go of Drew's hand and looks directly and Walter.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

 

_One hour ago they get to the beach, the sun already set._

It was Megan’s crazy idea, to spend Christmas Eve on a beach, and they all agreed without question. Walter and Toby head off a few yards away to start a bonfire as she helps Megan down onto the sand. Somewhere behind them Sly is carrying blankets, steps behind Paige who is fussing over a newly-walking Ralph.

“You really have no doubts about next week?” She asks. She can’t help it. She gets why she's doing it. It even makes sense. But she can’t help but hate the idea of Megan getting worse, or her needing more and more help.

Megan shakes her head, “Honestly, no. I’ve made the most of my life so far. I’m going to make the most out of Whitehull while I can.” She smiles, it’s too dark for Happy to see but she can feel it. Just like always, Megan’s smile warms up the space around her.

“I wish I could be like you,” she admits, bumps her shoulder against Megan’s.

Megan laughs, but not at her. “You just have to find what makes you happy.” She says, nudges Happy in the side and adds “Or _who_.”

Happy bites at her lips, not sure she can ever be like Megan. Content. Carefree. Nearby, the fire in front of Walt and Toby builds quickly and Paige pulls Ralph in the opposite direction.

Megan hums softly before she speaks again, “You know, the way I see it, happiness is like a tree.”

She frowns, turns her head. “ _What?_ ”

Megan laughs again. “Just hear me out! The roots are there, in you, right now. And if you give it a little faith – _maybe a little love_ – it will grow. I promise.”

Happy scoffs a little. She’s heard her fair share of fairy tale promises. And she wouldn’t be surprised if maybe she’s just not built for one.

“The cool thing is,” Megan slips an arm through around Happy’s and pulls her closer, “even when you think you can’t handle everything else, your tree is there to weather you from whatever storm you’re in. It’s not going anywhere. Trust me; I’ve seen my fair share of storms.”

Happy frowns a little, her gaze drawn over to Toby, now alone by the fire as he’s kicking sand around the edge. He’s back-lit by the flame and all she can see it the solid silhouette of him and his hat.  

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re more than ready to let your tree grow.”

She looks back at her, and Megan is grinning brightly in the dim light from the fire. “I’m going to miss you,” she says suddenly, unable to hold it in any longer.

“You better not,” Megan huffs emphatically, “I’m expecting weekly visits at least, okay? I know you’re busy saving the world and all but I’m pretty important.”

She smiles until Happy smiles with her and then there’s a loud laugh and they both look over to see Toby holding a long stick into the fire until he pulling out a flame torch and calling himself Indiana Jones.

Megan squeezes her arm around Happy’s. “Maybe he’s pretty important too.”

* * *

 

Now

In front of her Toby’s hands are shoved in the pockets of his jacket, fire torch long forgotten. She’s holding her breath, worried with every passing moment that she’d hesitated too long, that she’d put too much on the line.

“For the record, your logic makes no sense.” He says, still staring at her. And her first thought is that she disagrees with him.

Because it’s been 3 years and six months since they started Scorpion and they have both nearly died countless times but right now they’re here, alive. Because it’s been over four years since they met, since she was drawn to a stranger like a moth to a flame, like a magnet to metal.

Because he smiles and it steadies her; because he’s been her strongest constant for longer than she wants to admit.

Because maybe the world works in mysterious ways.

He mutters something else, and she doesn’t even catch it, too busy formulating a response, a defense, a plea, and then his hands are around on her face, and his lips are on hers, firmly, frenziedly, _finally_.

* * *

 

_**A few months later**   
_

They walk into his apartment tired and sore and having narrowly escaped death yet again. He presses his lips against her hair, for the second time since they left the garage and heads towards the kitchen. She half follows, stands at the edge of the tiles, drops her bag onto the floor, happy to be rid of any more weight than her own body.

She watches him dig out a two-day old carton of Chinese food and dig through it with a fork, wondering out loud whether it’s still edible. The man is ridiculous, she’s pretty sure he’s never even turned on an oven, and yet the whole thing make charms her somehow.

His voice sounds exhausted and relieved and pleased and she’s not sure whether it’s because they saved a life today or because the food still tastes alright, but either way she thinks she agrees.

She thinks of how last week he made her so mad she’d wanted to punch the smirk right off his face, and yet in bed that night she curled into him, filled with content and comfort and clarity.  

She thinks the tree thing makes sense now.

She’s been worried, that she didn’t know how to do this, and it wouldn’t work. But maybe it will.

“Doc,” she says, and then, as if testing the words, “I love you.” 

His fork falls into the half empty carton and he looks up, a disbelieving smile on his face. She can’t believe it either.

And yet, she can. She does.

He abandons his food on the on the counter, and steps towards her, crowds against her.

She thinks about apologizing for not saying it sooner, for not being ready, for taking years to catch up. But he cups her face gently, guides her gaze to his, his eyes wide and warm, astounded and elated.

He doesn’t need to say it back, she knows, can see it on his face, can hear the echoes from all the times he’s said it before.

“I love you,” she says it again; the words sweet on her tongue, warming her insides. She likes the way it sounds, likes the way it curls her tongue, likes the way she can feel her tree getting stronger with every syllable.

She winds a hand behind his neck, stretches herself up into him. His lips are soft and sure as he kisses her, and it steadies her on her toes.

And she thinks yes, _it will_.


End file.
